MUSICIANS  OF  TO-DAY 


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THE   MUSICIAN'S   BOOKSHELF 

Edited  by  CLAUDE   LANDI 


MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 


MUSICIANS  OF  TO-DAY 


BY 


ROMAIN    ROLLAND 

AUTHOR   OF    "JEAN-CHRISTOPHE" 


TRANSLATED    BY 

MARY   BLAIKLOCK 

WITH   AN    INTRODUCTION    BY 

CLAUDE   LANDI 


SECOND    EDITION 


NEW   YORK 
HENRY    HOLT    AND    COMPANY 

1915 


Printed  in  Great  Britain. 


i!!B3lil#4r^ 


CONTENTS 


'  q\5 


PAGE 

Introduction           .           .          .           .           .       .  ix 

Berlioz          .           .           .           .           .          .       .  i 

Wagner  : 

"Siegfried" 65 

"Tristan"              .             .            .            .            .        .  90 

Camille  Saint-Saens          .           .           .           •        •  97 

Vincent  d'Indy        .           .           .           .           .        .  112 

Richard  Strauss     .           .           .          .           .       .  139 

Hugo  Wolf   .           .           .           .           .           .       .  168 

Don  Lorenzo  Perosi          .           .           .           .        .  199 

French  and  German  Music        .           .           .        .  207 

Claude  Debussy  : 

"  Pelleas  et  Melisande "    .            .            .            .        .  234 

The  Awakening  :  A  Sketch  of  the  Musical  Move- 
ment in  Paris  since  1870          .           .           .        .  246 

Paris  and  Music    .             .....  247 

Musical  Institutions  before  1870.            .            .        .  256 

New  Musical  Institutions             .            .            .        .  265 

The  Present  Condition  of  French  Music             .        •  315 


INTRODUCTION 

It  is  perhaps  fitting  that  the  series  of  volumes  com- 
prising The  Musician  s  Bookshelf  should  be  in- 
augurated by  the  present  collection  of  essays.  To 
the  majority  of  English  readers  the  name  of  that 
strange  and  forceful  personality,  Romain  Rolland, 
is  kno^\^l  only  through  his  magnificent,  intimate 
record  of  an  artist's  life  and  aspirations,  embracing 
ten  volumes,  Jcan-Chnstophe.  This  is  not  the  place 
in  which  to  discuss  that  masterpiece.  A  few  bio- 
graphical facts  concerning  the  author  may  not, 
however,  be  out  of  place  here. 

Romain  Rolland  is  forty-eight  years  old.  He  was 
bom  on  January  29,  1866,  at  Clamecy  (Nie\Te), 
France.  He  came  very  early  under  the  influence 
of  Tolstoy  and  Wagner  and  displayed  a  remarkable 
critical  faculty.  In  1895  (at  the  age  of  twenty-nine) 
we  find  him  awarded  the  coveted  Grand  Prix  of  the 
Academic  Frangaise  for  his  work  Hisioire  de  I' Opera 
en  Europe  avant  Lulli  et  Scarlatti,  and  in  the  same 
year  he  sustained,  before  the  faculty  of  the  Sorbonne 
— where  he  now  occupies  the  chair  of  musical  criti- 
cism— a  remarkable  dissertation  on  The  Origin  of 


X  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

the  Modern  Lyrical  Drama — his  thesis  for  the 
Doctorate.  This,  in  reahty,  is  a  vehement  protest 
against  the  indifference  for  the  Art  of  Music  which, 
up  to  that  time,  had  always  been  displayed  by  the 
University.  In  1903  he  published  a  remarkable 
Life  of  BeetJwven,  followed  by  a  Life  of  Hugo  Wolf 
in  1905.  The  present  volume,  together  with  its 
companion,  Musiciens  d' Autrefois,  appeared  in  190S. 
Both  form  remarkable  essays  and  reveal  a  con- 
summate and  most  intimate  knowledge  of  the  life 
and  works  of  our  great  contemporaries.  A  just 
estimate  of  a  composer's  work  is  not  to  be  arrived 
at  without  a  study  of  his  works  and  of  the  condi- 
tions under  which  these  were  produced.  To  take, 
for  instance,  the  case  of  but  one  of  the  composers 
treated  in  this  volume,  Hector  Berlioz.  No  com- 
poser has  been  so  misunderstood,  so  vilified  as  he, 
simply  because  those  who  have  written  about  him, 
either  wilfully  or  through  ignorance,  have  grossly 
misrepresented  him. 

The  essay  on  Berlioz,  in  the  present  volume, 
reveals  a  true  insight  into  the  personality  of  this 
unfortunate  and  great  artist,  and  removes  any  false 
misconceptions  which  unsympathetic  and  super- 
ficial handling  may  have  engendered.  Indeed,  the 
same  introspective  faculty  is  displayed  in  all  the 
other  essays  which  form  this  volume,  which,  it  is 
believed,  will  prove  of  the  greatest  value  not  only  to 


INTRODUCTION  XI 

the  professional  student,  but  also  to  the  intelligent 
listener,  for  whom  the  present  series  of  volumes  has 
been  primarily  planned.  We  hear  much,  nowadays, 
of  the  value  of  "  Musical  Appreciation."  It  is  high 
time  that  something  was  done  to  educate  our 
audiences  and  to  dispel  the  hitherto  prevalent 
fallacy  that  Music  need  not  be  regarded  seriously. 
We  do  not  w^ant  more  creative  artists,  more  execu- 
tants ;  the  world  is  full  of  them — good,  bad  and 
indifferent — but  we  do  want  more  intelligent  listeners, 
I  do  not  think  it  is  an  exaggeration  to  assert  that 
the  majority  of  listeners  at  a  high-class  concert  or 
recital  are  absolutely  bored.  How  can  it  be  other- 
^^-ise,  when  the  composers  represented  are  mere  names 
to  them  ?  Why  should  the  general  public  appre- 
ciate a  Bach  fugue,  an  intricate  symphony  or  a 
piece  of  chamber-music  ?  Do  we  professional 
musicians  appreciate  the  technique  of  a  wonderful 
piece  of  sculpture,  of  an  equally  wonderful  feat  of 
engineering  or  even  of  a  miraculous  surgical  opera- 
tion ?  It  may  be  argued  that  an  analogy  betw^een 
sculpture,  engineering,  surgery  and  music  is  absurd, 
because  the  three  former  do  not  appeal  to  the  masses 
in  the  same  manner  as  music  does.  Precisely  :  it 
is  because  of  this  universal  appeal  on  the  part  of 
music  that  the  public  should  be  educated  to  listen 
to  good  music  ;  that  they  should  be  given,  in  a 
general  way,  a  chance  to  acquaint  themselves  with 


Xll  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

the  laws  underlying  the  "  Beautiful  in  Music  "  and 
should  be  shown  the  demands  which  a  right  appre- 
ciation of  the  Art  makes  upon  the  Intellect  and  the 
Emotions. 

And,  surely,  such  a  "  desideratum  "  may  best  be 
effected  by  a  careful  perusal  of  the  manuals  to  be 
included  in  the  present  series.  It  is  incontestable 
that  the  reader  of  the  following  pages — apart  from  a 
knowledge  of  the  various  musical  forms,  of  orches- 
tration, etc. — all  of  which  will  be  duly  treated  in 
successive  volumes — will  be  in  a  better  position  to 
appreciate  the  works  of  the  several  composers  to 
which  he  may  be  privileged  to  listen.  The  last  essay, 
especially,  will  be  read  with  interest  to-day,  when 
we  may  hope  to  look  fonvard  to  a  cessation  of  race- 
hatred and  distrust,  and  to  what  a  writer  in  the 
Musical  Times  (September,  1914)  has  called,  "a  new 
sense  of  the  emotional  solidarity  of  mankind.  From 
that  sense  alone,"  he  adds,  "  can  the  real  music  of 
the  future  be  born." 

CLAUDE   LANDI. 


MUSICIANS  OF  TO-DAY 


BERLIOZ 


It  may  seem  a  paradox  to  say  that  no  musician  is 
so  little  known  as  Berlioz.  The  world  thinks  it 
knows  him.  A  noisy  fame  surrounds  his  person 
and  his  work.  Musical  Europe  has  celebrated  his 
centenary.  Germany  disputes  with  France  the 
glory  of  having  nurtured  and  shaped  his  genius. 
Russia,  whose  triumphal  reception  consoled  him 
for  the  indifference  and  enmity  of  Paris,  ^  has  said, 
through  the  voice  of  Balakirew,  that  he  was  "  the 
only  musician  France  possessed."  His  chief  com- 
positions are  often  played  at  concerts  ;  and  some 
of  them  have  the  rare  quality  of  appealing  both  to 
the  cultured  and  the  crowd ;  a  few  have  even  reached 
great  popularity.  Works  have  been  dedicated  to 
him,  and  he  himself  has  been  described  and  criti- 
cised by  many  writers.  He  is  popular  even  to  his 
face  ;  for  his  face,  like  his  music,  was  so  striking 
and  singular  that  it  seemed  to  show  you  his  character 
at  a  glance.  No  clouds  hide  his  mind  and  its 
creations,  which,  unlike  Wagner's,  need  no  initia- 

^  "  And  you,  Russia,  who  have  saved  me.  .  .  ."     (Berlioz, 
Mdmoires,  II,  353,  Calmann-Levy's  edition,  1897). 

B 


2  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

tion  to  be  understood ;  they  seem  to  have  no 
hidden  meaning,  no  subtle  mystery  ;  one  is  in- 
stantly their  friend  or  their  enemy,  for  the  first 
impression  is  a  lasting  one. 

That  is  the  worst  of  it ;  people  imagine  that  they 
understand  Berlioz  with  so  very  little  trouble. 
Obscurity  of  meaning  may  harm  an  artist  less  than 
a  seeming  transparency ;  to  be  shrouded  in  mist 
may  mean  remaining  long  misunderstood,  but  those 
who  wish  to  understand  will  at  least  be  thorough 
in  their  search  for  the  truth.  It  is  not  always 
realised  how  depth  and  complexity  may  exist  in  a 
work  of  clear  design  and  strong  contrasts — in  the 
obvious  genius  of  some  great  Italian  of  the  Renais- 
sance as  much  as  in  the  troubled  heart  of  a  Rem- 
brandt and  the  twilight  of  the  North. 

That  is  the  first  pitfall ;  but  there  are  many  more 
that  will  beset  us  in  the  attempt  to  understand 
Berlioz.  To  get  at  the  man  himself  one  must  break 
down  a  wall  of  prejudice  and  pedantry,  of  con- 
vention and  intellectual  snobbery.  In  short,  one 
must  shake  off  nearly  all  current  ideas  about  his 
work  if  one  wishes  to  extricate  it  from  the  dust  that 
has  drifted  about  it  for  half  a  century. 

Above  all,  one  must  not  make  the  mistake  of 
contrasting  Berlioz  with  Wagner,  either  by  sacri« 
ficing  Berhoz  to  that  Germanic  Odin,  or  by  forcibly 
trying  to  reconcile  one  to  the  other.  For  there  are 
some  who  condemn  Berlioz  in  the  name  of  Wagner's 
theories  ;  and  others  who,  not  liking  the  sacrifice, 
seek  to  make  him  a  forerunner  of  Wagner,  or  kind  of 
elder  brothei ,  whose  mission  w^as  to  clear  a  way  and 


BERLIOZ  3 

prepare  a  road  for  a  genius  greater  than  his  own. 
Nothing  is  falser.  To  understand  Berhoz  one  must 
shake  off  the  hypnotic  influence  of  Bayreuth.  Though 
Wagner  may  have  learnt  something  from  Berlioz, 
the  two  composers  have  nothing  in  common  ;  their 
genius  and  their  art  are  absolutely  opposed  ;  each 
one  has  ploughed  his  furrow  in  a  different  field. 

The  Classical  misunderstanding  is  quite  as 
dangerous.  By  that  I  mean  the  clinging  to  super- 
stitions of  the  past,  and  the  pedantic  desire  to 
enclose  art  within  narrow  limits,  which  still  flourish 
among  critics.  Who  has  not  met  these  censors  of 
music  ?  They  will  tell  you  with  solid  complacence 
how  far  music  may  go,  and  where  it  must  stop,  and 
what  it  may  express  and  what  it  must  not.  They 
are  not  always  musicians  themselves.  But  what  of 
that  ?  Do  they  not  lean  on  the  example  of  the 
past  ?  The  past  !  a  handful  of  works  that  they 
themselves  hardly  understand.  Meanwhile,  music, 
by  its  unceasing  growth,  gives  the  lie  to  their 
theories,  and  breaks  down  these  weak  barriers. 
But  they  do  not  see  it,  do  not  wish  to  see  it ;  since 
they  cannot  advance  themselves,  they  deny  pro- 
gress. Critics  of  this  kind  do  not  think  favourably 
of  Berlioz's  dramatic  and  descriptive  symphonies. 
How  should  they  appreciate  the  boldest  musical 
achievement  of  the  nineteenth  century  ?  These 
dreadful  pedants  and  zealous  defenders  of  an  art 
that  they  only  understand  after  it  has  ceased  to  live 
are  the  worst  enemies  of  unfettered  genius,  and  may 
do  more  harm  than  a  whole  army  of  ignorant  people. 
For  in  a  country  like  ours,  where  musical  education 


4  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

is  poor,  timidity  is  great  in  the  presence  of  a  strong, 
but  only  half -understood,  tradition  ;  and  anyone 
who  has  the  boldness  to  break  away  from  it  is  con- 
demned without  judgment.  I  doubt  if  Berlioz 
would  have  obtained  any  consideration  at  all  from 
lovers  of  classical  music  in  France  if  he  had  not 
found  allies  in  that  country  of  classical  music, 
Germany — "  the  oracle  of  Delphi,"  "  Germania 
alma  parens, "^  as  he  called  her.  Some  of  the 
young  German  school  found  inspiration  in  Berlioz. 
The  dramatic  symphony  that  he  created  flourished 
in  its  German  form  under  Liszt ;  the  most  eminent 
German  composer  of  to-day,  Richard  Strauss,  came 
under  his  influence  ;  and  Felix  Weingartner,  who 
with  Charles  Malherbe  edited  Berhoz's  complete 
works,  was  bold  enough  to  write,  "  In  spite  of 
Wagner  and  Liszt,  we  should  not  be  where  we  are  if 
Berlioz  had  not  lived."  This  unexpected  support, 
coming  from  a  country  of  traditions,  has  thrown 
the  partisans  of  Classic  tradition  into  confusion, 
and  rallied  Berlioz's  friends. 

But  here  is  a  new  danger.  Though  it  is  natural 
that  Germany,  more  musical  than  France,  should 
recognise  the  grandeur  and  originality  of  Berlioz's 
music  before  France,  it  is  doubtful  whether  the 
German  nature  could  ever  fully  understand  a  soul 
so  French  in  its  essence.  It  is,  perhaps,  what  is 
exterior  in  Berlioz,  his  positive  originality,  that  the 
Germans  appreciate.  They  prefer  the  Requiem  to 
Romeo.  A  Richard  Strauss  would  be  attracted  by 
an  almost  insignificant  work  like  the  Oiwerture  dtt 

*  Memoires,  II,  149. 


BERLIOZ  5 

roi  Lear ;  a  Weingartner  would  single  out  for 
notice  works  like  the  Symphonic  fantastique  and 
Harold,  and  exaggerate  their  importance.  But 
they  do  not  feel  what  is  intimate  in  him.  Wagner 
said  over  the  tomb  of  Weber,  "  England  does  you 
justice,  France  admires  you,  but  only  Germany 
loves  you  ;  you  are  of  her  own  being,  a  glorious  day 
of  her  life,  a  warm  drop  of  her  blood,  a  part  of  her 
heart.  ..."  One  might  adapt  his  words  to  Berlioz  ; 
it  is  as  difficult  for  a  German  really  to  love  Berlioz 
as  it  is  for  a  Frenchman  to  love  Wagner  or  Weber. 
One  must,  therefore,  be  careful  about  accepting 
unreservedly  the  judgment  of  Germany  on  Berlioz  ; 
for  in  that  would  lie  the  danger  of  a  new  misunder- 
standing. You  see  how  both  the  followers  and 
opponents  of  Berhoz  hinder  us  from  getting  at  the 
truth.    Let  us  dismiss  them. 

Have  we  now  come  to  the  end  of  our  difficulties  ? 
Not  yet ;  for  Berhoz  is  the  most  illusive  of  men, 
and  no  one  has  helped  more  than  he  to  mislead 
people  in  their  estimate  of  him.  We  know  how 
much  he  has  written  about  music  and  about  his 
own  life,  and  what  wit  and  understanding  he  shows 
in  his  shrewd  criticisms  and  charming  Memoir es.'^ 

^  The  literary  work  of  Berlioz  is  rather  uneven.  Beside 
passages  of  exquisite  beauty  we  find  others  that  are  ridiculous 
in  their  exaggerated  sentiment,  and  there  are  some  that  even 
lack  good  taste.  But  he  had  a  natural  gift  of  style,  and  his 
writing  is  vigorous,  and  full  of  feeling,  especially  towards  the 
latter  half  of  his  life.  The  Procession  des  Rogations  is  often 
quoted  from  the  Memoires ;  and  some  of  his  poetical  text, 
particularly  that  in  L'EnJance  dn  Christ  and  in  Les  Troyens,  is 
written  in  beautiful  language  and  with  a  fine  sense  of  rhythm. 
His  Memoires  as  a  whole  is  one  of  the  most  delightful  books 
ever  written  by  an  artist.    Wagner  was  a  greater  poet,  but  as  a 


6  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

One  would  think  that  such  an  imaginative  and  skil- 
ful writer,  accustomed  in  his  profession  of  critic  to 
express  every  shade  of  feeling,  would  be  able  to  tell 
us  more  exactly  his  ideas  of  art  than  a  Beethoven  or 
a  Mozart.  But  it  is  not  so.  As  too  much  light  may 
blind  the  vision,  so  too  much  intellect  may  hinder 
the  understanding.  Berlioz's  mind  spent  itself  in 
details  ;  it  reflected  light  from  too  many  facets,  and 
did  not  focus  itself  in  one  strong  beam  which  would 
have  made  known  his  power.  He  did  not  know  how 
to  dominate  either  his  life  or  his  work ;  he  did  not 
even  try  to  dominate  them.  He  was  the  incarnation 
of  romantic  genius,  an  unrestrained  force,  unconscious 
of  the  road  he  trod.  I  would  not  go  so  far  as  to  say 
that  he  did  not  understand  himself,  but  there  are 
certainly  times  when  he  is  past  understanding 
himself.  He  allows  himself  to  drift  where  chance 
will  take  him,^  like  an  old  Scandinavian  pirate  laid 
at  the  bottom  of  his  boat,  staring  up  at  the  sky  ; 
and  he  dreams  and  groans  and  laughs  and  gives 
himself  up  to  his  feverish  delusions.  He  lived  with 
his  emotions  as  uncertainly  as  he  lived  with  his  art. 
In  his  music,  as  in  his  criticisms  of  music,  he  often 
contradicts  himself,  hesitates,  and  turns  back  ;  he 
is  not  sure  either  of  his  feelings  or  his  thoughts.  He 
has  poetry  in  his  soul,  and  strives  to  write  operas  ; 
but  his  admiration  wavers  between  Gluck  and 
Meyerbeer.  He  has  a  popular  genius,  but  despises 
the  people.     He  is  a  daring  musical  revolutionary, 

prose  writer  Berlioz  is  infinitely  superior.  See  Paul  Morillot's 
essay  on  Berlioz  icrivain,  1903,  Grenoble. 

^  "  Chance,  that  unknown  god,  who  plays  such  a  great  part 
in  my  life"  {Memoires,  II,  161). 


BERLIOZ  7 

but  he  allows  the  control  of  this  musical  movement 
to  be  taken  from  him  by  anyone  who  wishes  to  have 
it.  Worse  than  that :  he  disowns  the  movement, 
turns  his  back  upon  the  future,  and  throws  himself 
again  into  the  past.  For  what  reason  ?  Very  often 
he  does  not  know.  Passion,  bitterness,  caprice, 
wounded  pride — these  have  more  influence  with 
him  than  the  serious  things  of  life.  He  is  a  man  at 
war  with  himself. 

Then  contrast  Berhoz  with  Wagner.  Wagner, 
too,  was  stirred  by  violent  passions,  but  he  was 
always  master  of  himself,  and  his  reason  remained 
unshaken  by  the  storms  of  his  heart  or  those  of 
the  world,  by  the  torments  of  love  or  the  strife  of 
political  revolutions.  He  made  his  experiences  and 
even  his  errors  serve  his  art ;  he  wrote  about  his 
theories  before  he  put  them  into  practice  ;  and  he 
only  launched  out  w^hen  he  was  sure  of  himself,  and 
when  the  way  lay  clear  before  him.  And  think  how 
much  Wagner  owes  to  this  written  expression  of  his 
aims  and  the  magnetic  attraction  of  his  arguments. 
It  was  his  prose  works  that  fascinated  the  King  of 
Bavaria  before  he  had  heard  his  music ;  and  for  many 
others  also  they  have  been  the  key  to  that  music. 
I  remember  being  impressed  by  Wagner's  ideas 
when  I  only  half  understood  his  art ;  and  when  one 
of  his  compositions  puzzled  me,  my  confidence  was 
not  shaken,  for  I  w^as  sure  that  the  genius  who  was 
so  convincing  in  his  reasoning  would  not  blunder ; 
and  that  if  his  music  baffled  me,  it  was  I  who  was  at 
fault.  Wagner  was  really  his  own  best  friend,  his 
own    most    trusty    champion ;     and   his    was    the 


8  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

guiding  hand  that  led  one  through  the  thick  forest 
and  over  the  rugged  crags  of  his  work. 

Not  only  do  you  get  no  help  from  Berlioz  in  this 
way,  but  he  is  the  first  to  lead  you  astray  and 
wander  with  you  in  the  paths  of  error.  To  under- 
stand his  genius  you  must  seize  hold  of  it  unaided. 
His  genius  was  really  great,  but,  as  I  shall  try  to 
show  you,  it  lay  at  the  mercy  of  a  weak  character. 

Everything  about  Berlioz  was  misleading,  even 
his  appearance.  In  legendary  portraits  he  appears 
as  a  dark  southerner  with  black  hair  and  sparkling 
eyes.  But  he  was  really  very  fair  and  had  blue 
eyes,^  and  Joseph  d'Ortigue  tells  us  they  were 
deep-set  and  piercing,  though  sometimes  clouded 
by  melancholy  or  languor,  ^  He  had  a  broad  fore- 
head furrowed  with  wrinkles  by  the  time  he  was 
thirty,  and  a  thick  mane  of  hair,  or,  as  E.  Legouve 
puts  it,  "a  large  umbrella  of  hair,  projecting  like  a 
movable  awning  over  the  beak  of  a  bird  of  prey.^ 
His  mouth  was  well  cut,  with  lips  compressed  and 
puckered  at  the  corners  in  a  severe  fold,  and  his 
chin  was  prominent.    He  had  a  deep  voice,*  but  his 

1  "  I  was  fair,"  wrote  Berlioz  to  Biilow  (unpublished  letters, 
1858).  "  A  shock  of  reddish  hair,"  he  wrote  in  his  Memoires, 
I,  165.  "  Sandy-coloured  hair,"  said  Reyer.  For  the  colour 
of  Berlioz's  hair  I  rely  upon  the  evidence  of  Mme.  Chapot, 
his  niece. 

2  Joseph  d'Ortigue,  Le  Balcon  de  I'Opera,  1833. 

^  E.  Legouve,  Soixante  ans  de  souvenirs.  Legouve  describes 
Berlioz  here  as  he  saw  liim  for  the  first  time. 

*  "  A  passable  baritone,"  says  Berlioz  [Memoires,  I,  58).  In 
1S30,  in  the  streets  of  Paris,  he  sang"  a  bass  part"  {Memoires, 
I,  156).  During  his  first  visit  to  Germany  the  Prince  of 
Hechingen  made  him  sing  "  the  part  of  the  violoncello  "  in  one 
ol  his  compositions  {Memoires,  II,  32). 


BERLIOZ  9 

speech  was  halting  and  often  tremulous  with  emo- 
tion ;  he  would  speak  passionately  of  what  interested 
him,  and  at  times  be  effusive  in  manner,  but  more 
often  he  was  ungracious  and  reserved.  He  was  of 
medium  height,  rather  thin  and  angular  in  figure, 
and  when  seated  he  seemed  much  taller  than  he 
really  was.^  He  was  very  restless,  and  inherited 
from  his  native  land,  Dauphine,  the  mountaineer's 
passion  for  walking  and  climbing,  and  the  love  of 
a  vagabond  life,  which  remained  with  him  nearly  to 
his  death. 2  He  had  an  iron  constitution,  but  he 
wrecked  it  by  privation  and  excess,  by  his  walks  in 
the  rain,  and  by  sleeping  out-of-doors  in  all  weathers, 
even  when  there  was  snow  on  the  ground. ^ 

But  in  this  strong  and  athletic  frame  lived  a  feverish 
and  sickly  soul  that  was  dominated  and  tormented 
by  a  morbid  craving  for  love  and  sympathy :  "  that 
imperative  need  of  love  which  is  killing  me.  .  .  ."* 
To  love,  to  be  loved — he  would  give  up  all  for  that. 
But  his  love  was  that  of  a  youth  who  lives  in  dreams  ; 
it  was  never  the  strong,  clear-eyed  passion  of  a  man 

1  There  are  two  good  portraits  of  Berlioz.  One  is  a  photo- 
graph by  Pierre  Petit,  taken  in  1863,  which  he  sent  to  Mme. 
Estelle  Fornier.  It  shows  him  leaning  on  his  elbow,  with  his 
head  bent,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground  as  if  he  were  tired. 
The  other  is  the  photograph  which  he  had  reproduced  in  the 
first  edition  of  his  Memoires,  and  which  shows  him  leaning  back, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  head  upright,  with  an  expression  of 
energy  in  his  face,  and  a  fixed  and  stern  look  in  his  eyes. 

2  He  would  go  on  foot  from  Naples  to  Rome  in  a  straight 
line  over  the  mountains,  and  would  walk  at  one  stretch  from 
Subiaco  to  Tivoli. 

^  This  brought  on  several  attacks  of  bronchitis  and  frequent 
sore  throats,  as  well  as  the  internal  aft'ection  from  which  he  died. 

*  "  Music  and  love  are  the  two  wings  of  the  soul,"  he  wrote 
in  his  Memoires. 


10  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

who  has  faced  the  reaHties  of  hfe,  and  who  sees  the 
defects  as  well  as  the  charms  of  the  woman  he 
loves.  Berlioz  was  in  love  with  love,  and  lost 
himself  among  visions  and  sentimental  shadows. 
To  the  end  of  his  life  he  remained  "  a  poor  little 
child  worn  out  by  a  love  that  was  beyond  him."^ 
But  this  man  who  lived  so  wild  and  adventurous  a 
life  expressed  his  passions  with  delicacy ;  and  one 
finds  an  almost  girlish  purity  in  the  immortal 
love  passages  of  Les  Troy  ens  or  the  **nuit  sereine" 
of  Romeo  et  Juliette.  And  compare  this  Virgilian 
affection  with  Wagner's  sensual  raptures.  Does  it 
mean  that  Berlioz  could  not  love  as  well  as  Wagner  ? 
We  only  know  that  Berlioz's  life  was  made  up  of 
love  and  its  torments.  The  theme  of  a  touching 
passage  in  the  Introduction  of  the  Symphonic 
fantastique  has  been  recently  identified  by  M. 
Julien  Tiersot,  in  his  interesting  book,^  with  a 
romance  composed  by  Berlioz  at  the  age  of  twelve, 
when  he  loved  a  girl  of  eighteen  "  with  large  eyes 
and  pink  shoes " — Estelle,  Stella  montis,  Stella 
matutina.  These  words — perhaps  the  saddest  he 
ever  wrote — might  serve  as  an  emblem  of  his  life, 
a  life  that  was  a  prey  to  love  and  melancholy, 
doomed  to  wringing  of  the  heart  and  awful  loneliness ; 
a  life  lived  in  a  hollow  world,  among  worries  that 
chilled  the  blood  ;  a  life  that  was  distasteful  and 
had  no  solace  to  offer  him  in  its  end.^  He  has 
himself  described  this  terrible  "  mal  de  Visolement," 

1  Memoires,  I,  ii. 

2  Julien  Tiersot,   Hector  Berlioz  et  la  socUte  de  son  temps, 
1903,  Hachette. 

'  See  tlie  Memoires,  1,  139. 


BERLIOZ  II 

which  pursued  him  all  his  life,  vividly  and  minutely.^ 
He  was  doomed  to  suffering,  or,  what  was  worse,  to 
make  others  suffer. 

Who  does  not  know  his  passion  for  Henrietta 
Smithson  ?  It  was  a  sad  story.  He  fell  in  love  with 
an  English  actress  who  played  Juliet  (Was  it  she  or 
Juliet  whom  he  loved  ?).  He  caught  but  a  glance  of 
her,  and  it  was  all  over  with  him.  He  cried  out, 
"  Ah,  I  am  lost  !  "  He  desired  her ;  she  repulsed 
him.  He  lived  in  a  delirium  of  suffering  and  passion  ; 
he  wandered  about  for  days  and  nights  like  a 
madman,  up  and  down  Paris  and  its  neighbourhood, 

^  "  I  do  not  know  how  to  describe  this  terrible  sickness.  .  .  . 
My  throbbing  breast  seems  to  be  sinking  into  space  ;  and  my 
heart,  drawing  in  some  irresistible  force,  feels  as  though  it  would 
expand  until  it  evaporated  and  dissolved  away.  My  skin 
becomes  hot  and  tendfer,  and  flushes  from  head  to  foot.  I  want 
to  cry  out  to  my  friends  (even  those  I  do  not  care  for)  to  help 
and  comfort  me,  to  save  me  from  destruction,  and  keep  in  the 
liie  that  is  ebbing  from  me.  I  have  no  sensation  of  impending 
death  in  these  attacks,  and  suicide  seems  impossible  ;  I  do  not 
want  to  die — far  from  it,  I  want  very  much  to  live,  to  intensify 
life  a  thousandfold.  It  is  an  excessive  appetite  for  happiness, 
which  becomes  unbearable  when  it  lacks  food  ;  and  it  is  only 
satisfied  by  intense  delights,  which  give  this  great  overflow  of 
feeling  an  outlet.  It  is  not  a  state  of  spleen,  though  that  may 
follow  later  .  .  .  spleen  is  rather  the  congealing  of  all  these 
emotions — the  block  of  ice.  Even  when  I  am  calm  I  feel  a 
little  of  this  '  isolement '  on  Sundays  in  summer,  when  our 
towns  are  lifeless,  and  everyone  is  in  the  country  ;  for  I  know 
that  people  are  enjoying  themselves  away  from  me,  and  I  feel 
their  absence.  The  adagio  of  Beethoven's  symphonies,  certain 
scenes  from  Gluck's  Alceste  and  Armide,  an  air  from  his  Italian 
opera  Telemacco,  the  Elysian  fields  of  his  Orfeo,  will  bring  on 
rather  bad  attacks  of  this  suffering  ;  but  these  masterpieces 
bring  with  them  also  an  antidote — they  make  one's  tears  flow, 
and  then  the  pain  is  eased.  On  the  other  hand,  the  adagio  of 
some  of  Beethoven's  sonatas  and  Gluck's  Iphigenie  en  Tauride 
are  full  of  melancholy,  and  therefore  provoke  spleen  ...  it  is 
then  cold  within,  the  sky  is  grey  and  overcast  with  clouds,  the 
north  wind  moans  dully.   .   .   ."  {Memoires,  I,  246). 


12  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

without  purpose  or  rest  or  relief,  until  sleep  over- 
came him  wherever  it  found  him — among  the 
sheaves  in  a  field  near  Villejuif,  in  a  meadow  near 
Sceaux,  on  the  bank  of  the  frozen  Seine  near 
Neuilly,  in  the  snow,  and  once  on  a  table  in  the 
Cafe  Cardinal,  where  he  slept  for  five  hours,  to  the 
great  alarm  of  the  waiters,  who  thought  he  was 
dead.^  Meanwhile,  he  was  told  slanderous  gossip 
about  Henrietta,  which  he  readily  believed.  Then 
he  despised  her,  and  dishonoured  her  publicly  in 
his  Symphonie  faniasiique,  paying  homage  in  his 
bitter  resentment  to  Camille  Moke,  a  pianist,  to 
whom  he  lost  his  heart  without  delay. 

After  a  time  Henrietta  reappeared.  She  had  now 
lost  her  youth  and  her  power;  her  beauty  was 
waning,  and  she  was  in  debt.  BerHoz's  passion  was 
at  once  rekindled.  This  time  Henrietta  accepted 
his  advances.  He  made  alterations  in  his  symphony, 
and  offered  it  to  her  in  homage  of  his  love.  He  won 
her,  and  married  her,  with  fourteen  thousand  francs 
debt.  He  had  captured  his  dream — JuHet !  Ophelia ! 
What  was  she  really  ?  A  charming  Enghshwoman, 
cold,  loyal,  and  sober-minded,  who  understood 
nothing  of  his  passion  ;  and  who,  from  the  time  she 
became  his  wife,  loved  him  jealously  and  sincerely, 
and  thought  to  confine  him  within  the  narrow  world 
of  domestic  life.  But  his  affections  became  restive, 
and  he  lost  his  heart  to  a  Spanish  actress  (it  was 
always  an  actress,  a  virtuoso,  or  a  part)  and  left  poor 
Ophelia,  and  went  off  with  Marie  Recio,  the  Ines  of 
Favorite,  the  page  of  Comte  Ory — a  practical,  hard- 

^  Memoires,  I,  98. 


BERLIOZ  13 

headed  woman,  an  indifferent  singer  with  a  mania 
for  singing.  The  haughty  Berhoz  was  forced  to 
fawn  upon  the  directors  of  the  theatre  in  order  to  get 
her  parts,  to  write  flattering  notices  in  praise  of  her 
talents,  and  even  to  let  her  make  his  own  melodies 
discordant  at  the  concerts  he  arranged.^  It  would 
all  be  dreadfully  ridiculous  if  this  weakness  of 
character  had  not  brought  tragedy  in  its  train. 

So  the  one  he  really  loved,  and  who  always  loved 
him,  remained  alone,  without  friends,  in  Paris, 
where  she  was  a  stranger.  She  drooped  in  silence 
and  pined  slowly  away,  bedridden,  paralysed,  and 
unable  to  speak  during  eight  years  of  suffering. 
Berlioz  suffered  too,  for  he  loved  her  still  and  was 
torn  with  pity — "  pity,  the  most  painful  of  all 
emotions. "2  But  of  what  use  was  this  pity  ?  He 
left  Henrietta  to  suffer  alone  and  to  die  just  the 
same.  And,  what  was  worse,  as  we  learn  from 
Legouve,  he  let  his  mistress,  the  odious  Recio,  make 
a  scene  before  poor  Henrietta.  ^  Recio  told  him  of 
it  and  boasted  about  what  she  had  done.     And 

^  "  Isn't  it  really  devilish,"  he  said  to  Legouve,  "  tragic  and 
silly  at  the  same  time  ?  I  should  deserve  to  go  to  hell  if  I 
wasn't  there  already." 

2  Mdmoires,  II,  335.  See  the  touching  passages  he  wrote  on 
Henrietta  Smithson's  death. 

3  "  One  day,  Henrietta,  who  was  living  alone  at  Montmartre, 
heard  someone  ring  the  bell,  and  went  to  open  the  door. 

"  '  Is  Mme.  Berlioz  at  home  ?  ' 

"  '  I  am  Mme.  Berlioz.' 

"  '  You  are  mistaken  ;    I  asked  for  Mme.  Berlioz.' 

"  '  And  I  tell  you,  I  am  Mme.  Berlioz.' 

"  '  No,  you  are  not.  You  are  speaking  of  the  old  Mme. 
Berlioz,  the  one  who  was  abandoned  ;  I  am  speaking  of  the 
young  and  pretty  and  loved  one.     Well,  that  is  myself  !  ' 

"  And  Recio  went  out  and  banged  the  door  after  her. 

"  Legouv6  said  to  Berlioz,  '  Who  told  you  this  abominable 


14  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Berlioz  did  nothing — "  How  could  I  ?    I  love  her." 
One  would  be  hard  upon  such  a  man  if  one  was 

not  disarmed  by  his  own  sufferings.  But  let  us  go  on. 
I  should  have  liked  to  pass  over  these  traits,  but  I 
have  no  right  to  ;  I  must  show  you  the  extra- 
ordinary feebleness  of  the  man's  character.  "  Man's 
character,"  did  I  say  ?  No,  it  was  the  character  of 
a  woman  without  a  will,  the  victim  of  her  nerves. ^ 

Such  people  are  destined  to  unhappiness  ;  and  if 
they  make  other  people  suffer,  one  may  be  sure  that 
it  is  only  half  of  what  they  suffer  themselves.  They 
have  a  peculiar  gift  for  attracting  and  gathering 


thing  ?  I  suppose  she  who  did  it ;  and  then  she  boasted  about 
it  into  the  bargain.  Why  didn't  you  turn  her  out  of  the  house  ?  ' 
'  How  could  I  ?  '  said  Berlioz  in  broken  tones,  '  I  love  her  '  " 
{Soixante  ans  de  souvenirs). 

^  From  this  woman's  nature  came  his  love  of  revenge,  "  a 
thing  needless,  and  yet  necessary,"  he  said  to  his  friend  Hiller, 
who,  after  having  made  him  write  the  Symphonie  fantastique  to 
spite  Henrietta  Smithson,  next  made  him  write  the  wretched 
fantasia  Etiphonia  to  spite  Camilla  Moke,  now  Mme.  Pleyel, 
One  would  feel  obliged  to  draw  more  attention  to  the  way  he 
often  adorned  or  perverted  the  truth  if  one  did  not  feel  it  arose 
from  his  irrepressible  and  glowing  imagination  far  more  than 
from  any  intention  to  mislead  ;  for  I  believe  his  real  nature  to 
have  been  a  very  straightforward  orre.  I  will  quote  the  story  of 
his  friend  Crispino,  a  young  countryman  from  Tivoli,  as  a 
characteristic  example.  Berlioz  says  in  his  Memoires  (I,  229)  : 
"  One  day  when  Crispino  was  lacking  in  respect  I  made  him  a 
present  of  two  shirts,  a  pair  of  trousers,  and  three  good  kicks 
behind."  In  a  note  he  added,  "  This  is  a  lie,  and  is  the  result  of 
an  artist's  tendency  to  aim  at  effect.  I  never  kicked  Crispino." 
But  Berlioz  took  care  afterwards  to  omit  this  note.  One  attaches 
as  little  importance  to  his  other  small  boasts  as  to  this  one. 
The  errors  in  the  Memoires  have  been  greatly  exaggerated  ;  and 
besides,  Berlioz  is  the  first  to  warn  his  readers  that  he  only 
wrote  what  pleased  him,  and  in  his  preface  says  that  he  is  not 
writing  his  Confessions.  Can  one  blame  him  for  that  ? 


BERLIOZ  15 

up  trouble  ;  they  savour  sorrow  like  wine,  and  do 
not  lose  a  drop  of  it.  Life  seemed  desirous  that 
Berlioz  should  be  steeped  in  suffering  ;  and  his 
misfortunes  were  so  real  that  it  would  be  unnecessary 
to  add  to  them  any  exaggerations  that  history  has 
handed  down  to  us. 

People  find  fault  with  Berhoz's  continual  com- 
plaints ;  and  I,  too,  find  in  them  a  lack  of  virility 
and  almost  a  lack  of  dignity.  To  all  appearances, 
he  had  far  fewer  material  reasons  for  unhappiness 
than — I  won't  say  Beethoven — Wagner  and  other 
great  men,  past,  present,  and  future.  When  thirty- 
five  years  old  he  had  achieved  glory  ;  and  Paganini 
proclaimed  him  Beethoven's  successor.  What 
more  could  he  want  ?  He  was  discussed  by  the 
pubHc,  disparaged  by  a  Scudo  and  an  Adolphus 
Adam,  and  the  theatre  only  opened  its  doors  to  him 
with  difficulty.     It  was  really  splendid  ! 

But  a  careful  examination  of  facts,  such  as  that 
made  by  M.  Julien  Tiersot,  shows  the  stifling 
mediocrity  and  hardship  of  his  life.  There  were, 
first  of  all,  his  material  cares.  When  thirty-six 
years  old  "  Beethoven's  successor "  had  a  fixed 
salary  of  fifteen  hundred  francs  as  assistant  keeper 
of  the  Conservatoire  Library,  and  not  quite  as  much 
for  his  contributions  to  the  Dehats — contributions 
which  exasperated  and  humiliated  him,  and  were 
one  of  the  crosses  of  his  life,  as  they  obliged  him  to 
speak  anything  but  the  truth.  ^  That  made  a  total 
of  three  thousand  francs,  hardly  gained,  on  which  he 

1  Memoires,  II,  158.  The  heartaches  expressed  in  this  chapter 
will  be  felt  by  every  artist. 


l6  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

had  to  keep  a  wife  and  child — "  meme  deux'*  as 
M.  Tiersot  says.  He  attempted  a  festival  at  the 
Opera  ;  the  result  was  three  hundred  and  sixty 
francs  loss.  He  organised  a  festival  at  the  1844 
Exhibition  ;  the  receipts  were  thirty-two  thousand 
francs,  out  of  which  he  got  eight  hundred  francs. 
He  had  the  Damnation  de  Faust  performed  ;  no  one 
came  to  it,  and  he  was  ruined.  Things  went  better 
in  Russia ;  but  the  manager  who  brought  him  to 
England  became  bankrupt.  He  was  haunted  by 
thoughts  of  rents  and  doctors'  bills.  Towards  the 
end  of  his  hfe  his  financial  affairs  mended  a  little, 
and  a  year  before  his  death  he  uttered  these  sad 
words  :  "I  suffer  a  great  deal,  but  I  do  not  want 
to  die  now — I  have  enough  to  live  upon." 

One  of  the  most  tragic  episodes  of  his  life  is  that  of 
the  symphony  which  he  did  not  write  because  of 
his  poverty.  One  wonders  why  the  page  that 
finishes  his  Memoir es  is  not  better  known,  for  it 
touches  the  depths  of  human  suffering. 

At  the  time  when  his  wife's  health  was  causing 
him  most  anxiety,  there  came  to  him  one  night  an 
inspiration  for  a  symphony.  The  first  part  of  it — 
an  allegro  in  two-four  time  in  A  minor — ^was  ringing 
in  his  head.  He  got  up  and  began  to  write,  and 
then  he  thought : — 

"  If  I  begin  this  bit,  I  shall  have  to  write  the 
whole  symphony.  It  will  be  a  big  thing,  and  I 
shall  have  to  spend  three  or  four  months  over  it. 
That  means  I  shall  write  no  more  articles  and  earn 
no  money.    And  when  the  symphony  is  finished 


BERLIOZ  17 

I  shall  not  be  able  to  resist  the  temptation  of 
having  it  copied  (which  will  mean  an  expense  of 
a  thousand  or  twelve  hundred  francs),  and  then 
of  having  it  played.  I  shall  give  a  concert,  and 
the  receipts  will  barely  cover  half  the  cost.  I  shall 
lose  what  I  have  not  got ;  the  poor  invahd  will 
lack  necessities  ;  and  I  shall  be  able  to  pay  neither 
my  personal  expenses  nor  my  son's  fees  when  he 
goes  on  board  ship.  .  .  .  These  thoughts  made 
me  shudder,  and  I  threw  down  my  pen,  saying, 
'  Bah !  to-morrow  I  shall  have  forgotten  the 
symphony.'  The  next  night  I  heard  the  allegro 
clearly,  and  seemed  to  see  it  written  down.  I  was 
filled  with  feverish  agitation  ;  I  sang  the  theme  ; 
I  was  going  to  get  up  .  .  .  but  the  reflections 
of  the  day  before  restrained  me  ;  I  steeled  myself 
against  the  temptation,  and  clung  to  the  thought 
of  forgetting  it.  At  last  I  went  to  sleep  ;  and 
the  next  day,  on  waking,  all  remembrance  of  it 
had,  indeed,  gone  for  ever."i 

That  page  makes  one  shudder.  Suicide  is  less 
distressing.  Neither  Beethoven  nor  Wagner  suffered 
such  tortures.  What  would  Wagner  have  done  on 
a  like  occasion  ?  He  would  have  written  the  sym- 
phony without  doubt — and  he  would  have  been 
right.  But  poor  Berlioz,  who  was  w^eak  enough  to 
sacrifice  his  duty  to  love,  was,  alas  !  also  heroic 
enough  to  sacrifice  his  genius  to  duty.^ 

^  Memoires,  II,  319. 

^  Berlioz  has  already  touchingly  replied  to  any  reproaches 
that  might  be  made  in  the  words  that  follow  the  story  I  have 
quoted.     "  '  Coward  !  '  some  young  enthusiast  will  say,  '  you 


l8  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

And  in  spite  of  all  this  material  misery  and  the 
sorrow  of  being  misunderstood,  people  speak  of  the 
glory  he  enjoyed.  What  did  his  compeers  think  of 
him — at  least,  those  who  called  themselves  such  ? 
He  knew  that  Mendelssohn,  whom  he  loved  and 
esteemed,  and  who  styled  himself  his  "  good  friend," 
despised  him  and  did  not  recognise  his  genius. ^ 
The  large-hearted  Schumann,  who  was,  with  the 
exception  of  Liszt, ^  the  only  person  who  intuitively 
felt  his  greatness,  admitted  that  he  used  sometimes 
to  wonder  if  he  ought  to  be  looked  upon  as  "  a 
genius  or  a  musical  adventurer.  "^  Wagner,  who 
treated  his  symphonies  with  scorn  before  he  had 

ought  to  have  written  it ;  you  should  have  been  bold.'  Ah, 
young  man,  you  who  call  me  coward  did  not  have  to  look  upon 
wSat  I  did  ;  had  you  done  so  you,  too,  would  have  had  no 
choice.  My  wife  was  there,  half  dead,  only  able  to  moan  ;  she 
had  to  have  three  nurses,  and  a  doctor  every  day  to  visit  her  ; 
and  I  was  sure  of  the  disastrous  result  of  any  musical  adventure. 
No,  I  was  not  a  coward  ;  I  know  I  was  only  human.  I  like  to 
believe  that  I  honoured  art  in  proving  that  she  had  left  me 
enough  reason  to  distinguish  between  courage  and  cruelty  " 
{Memoires,  II,  350). 

^  In  a  note  in  the  Memoires,  Berlioz  publishes  a  letter  of 
Mendelssohn's  which  protests  his  "  good  friendship,"  and  he 
writes  these  bitter  wotds  :  "I  have  just  seen  in  a  volume  of 
Mendelssohn's  Letters  what  his  friendship  for  me  consisted  of. 
He  says  to  his  mother,  in  what  is  plainly  a  description  of  myself, 

' is  a  perfect  caricature,  without  a  spark  of  talent  .  .  . 

there  are  times  when  I  should  like  to  swallow  him  up  '  "  {Memoires, 
II,  48).  Berhoz  did  not  add  that  Mendelssohn  also  said: 
"  They  pretend  that  Berlioz  seeks  lofty  ideals  in  art.  I  don't 
think  so  at  all.  What  he  wants  is  to  get  himself  married."  The 
injustice  of  these  insulting  words  will  disgust  all  those  who 
remember  that  when  Berlioz  married  Henrietta  Smithson  she 
brought  as  dowry  nothing  but  debts  ;  and  that  he  had  only 
three  hundred  francs  himself,  which  a  friend  had  lent  him, 

*  Liszt  repudiated  him  later. 

^  Written  in  an  article  on  the  Ouveriure  de  Waverley  {Neue 
Zeitschri/t  fiir  Miisik). 


BERLIOZ  19 

even  read  them,^  who  certainly  understood  his 
genius,  and  who  deUberately  ignored  him,  threw 
himself  into  Berlioz's  arms  when  he  met  him  in 
London  in  1855.  "  He  embraced  him  with  fervour, 
and  wept ;  and  hardly  had  he  left  him  when  The 
Musical  World  published  passages  from  his  book, 
Oper  und  Drama,  where  he  pulls  Berlioz  to  pieces 
mercilessly/'  ^  i^  France,  the  young  Gounod,  doli 
fabricator  Epeus,  as  Berlioz  called  him,  lavished 
flattering  words  upon  him,  but  spent  his  time  in 
finding  fault  with  his  compositions,  ^  or  in  trying  to 
supplant  him  at  the  theatre.  At  the  Opera  he  was 
passed  over  in  favour  of  a  Prince  Poniatowski. 
He  presented  himself  three  times  at  the  Academy, 
and  was  beaten  the  first  time  by  Onslow,  the  second 
time  by  Clapisson,  and  the  third  time  he  conquered 
by  a  majority  of  one  vote  against  Panseron,  Vogel, 
Leborne,  and  others,  including,  as  always,  Gounod. 
He  died  before  the  Damnation  de  Faust  was  appre- 
ciated in  France,  although  it  was  the  most  remark- 
able musical  composition  France  had  produced. 
They  hissed  its  performance  ?  Not  at  all ;  "  they 
were  merely  indifferent  " — it  is  Berlioz  who  tells  us 
this.  It  passed  unnoticed.  He  died  before  he  had 
seen  Les  Troyens  played  in  its  entirety,  though  it 

^  Wagner,  who  had  criticised  Berlioz  since  1840,  and  who 
published  a  detailed  study  of  his  works  in  his  Oper  und  Drama 
in  1851,  wrote  to  Liszt  in  1855:  "  I  own  that  it  would  interest 
me  very  much  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Berlioz's  symphonies, 
and  I  should  like  to  see  the  scores.  If  you  have  them,  will  you 
lend  them  to  me  ?  " 

2  See  Berlioz's  letter,  cited  by  J.  Tiersot,  Hector  Berlioz  et 
la  sociite  de  son  temps,  p.  275. 

3  Romeo,  Faust,  La  Nonne  sati^lante. 


20  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

was  one  of  the  noblest  works  of  the  French  lyric 
theatre  that  had  been  composed  since  the  death 
of  Gluck.i  But  there  is  no  need  to  be  astonished. 
To  hear  these  works  to-day  one  must  go  to  Germany. 
And  although  the  dramatic  work  of  Berlioz  has 
found  its  Bayreuth — thanks  to  Mottl,  to  Karlsruhe 
and  Munich — and  the  marvellous  Benvenuto  Cellini 
has  been  played  in  twenty  German  towns,  ^  and 
regarded  as  a  masterpiece  by  Weingartner  and 
Richard  Strauss,  what  manager  of  a  French  theatre 
would  think  of  producing  such  works  ? 

But  this  is  not  all.  What  was  the  bitterness  of 
failure  compared  with  the  great  anguish  of  death  ? 
Berlioz  saw  all  those  he  loved  die  one  after  the 
other  :  his  father,  his  mother,  Henrietta  Smithson, 
Marie  Recio.     Then  only  his  son  Louis  remained. 


1  I  shall  content  myself  here  with  noting  a  fact,  which  I  shall 
deal  with  more  fully  in  another  essay  at  the  end  of  this  book  :  it 
is  the  decline  of  musical  taste  in  France — and,  I  rather  think,  in 
all  Europe — since  1835  or  1840.  Berlioz  says  in  his  Me  moires  : 
"  Since  the  first  performance  of  Romeo  et  Juliette  the  indiffer- 
ence of  the  French  public  for  all  that  concerns  art  and  litera- 
ture has  grown  incredibly"  {Mdmoires,  II,  263).  Compare  the 
shouts  of  excitement  and  the  tears  that  were  drawn  from  the 
dilettanti  of  1830  [Mimoires,  I,  81),  at  the  performances  of 
Italian  operas  or  Gluck's  works,  with  the  coldness  of  the  public 
between  1840  and  1870.  A  mantle  of  ice  covered  art  then.  How 
much  Berlioz  must  have  suffered.  In  Germany  the  great  romantic 
age  was  dead.  Only  Wagner  remained  to  give  life  to  music  ; 
and  he  drained  all  that  was  left  in  Europe  of  love  and  enthusiasm 
for  music.     Berlioz  died  truly  of  asphyxia. 

2  Here  is  an  official  list  of  the  towns  where  Benvenuto  has 
been  played  since  1879  (I  am  indebted  for  this  information  to 
M.  Victor  Chapot,  Berlioz's  grandnephew) .  They  are,  in  alpha- 
betical order  :  Berlin,  Bremen,  Brunswick,  Dresden,  Frankfort- 
on-Main,  Freiburg-im-Breisgau,  Hamburg,  Hanover,  Karlsruhe, 
Leipsic,  Mannheim,  Metz,  Munich,  Prague,  Schwerin,  Stettin, 
Strasburg,  Stuttgart,  Vienna,  and  Weimar. 


BERLIOZ  21 

He  was  the  captain  of  a  merchant  vessel ;  a  clever, 

good-hearted  boy,  but  restless  and  nervous,  irresolute 
and  unhappy,  like  his  father.  "  He  has  the  mis- 
fortune to  resemble  me  in  everything,"  said  Berlioz  ; 
"  and  we  love  each  other  like  a  couple  of  twins." ^ 
"  Ah,  my  poor  Louis,"  he  wrote  to  him,  "  what 
should  I  do  without  you  ?  "  A  few  months  after- 
wards he  learnt  that  Louis  had  died  in  far-away 
seas. 

He  was  now  alone.  ^  There  were  no  more  friendly 
voices  ;  all  that  he  heard  was  a  hideous  duet  between 
loneliness  and  weariness,  sung  in  his  ear  during  the 
bustle  of  the  day  and  in  the  silence  of  the  night. ^ 
He  was  wasted  with  disease.  In  1856,  at  Weimar, 
following  great  fatigue,  he  was  seized  with  an 
internal  malady.  It  began  with  great  mental 
distress ;  he  used  to  sleep  in  the  streets.  He 
suffered  constantly  ;  he  was  like  "  a  tree  without 
leaves,  streaming  with  rain."  At  the  end  of  1861, 
the  disease  was  in  an  acute  stage.  He  had  attacks 
of  pain  sometimes  lasting  thirty  hours,  during  which 
he  would  writhe  in  agony  in  his  bed.  "  I  live  in 
the  midst  of  my  physical  pain,  ovenvhelmed  with 
weariness.    Death  is  very  slow."* 

Worst  of  all,  in  the  heart  of  his  misery,  there  was 

1  Memoires,  II,  420. 

^  "I  do  not  know  how  Berlioz  has  managed  to  be  cut  off 
like  this.  He  has  neither  friends  nor  followers  ;  neither  the 
warm  sun  of  popularity  nor  the  pleasant  shade  of  friendship  " 
(Liszt  to  the  Princess  of  Wittgenstein,  i6  May,  1861). 

»  In  a  letter  to  Bennet  he  says,  "  I  am  weary,  I  am  weary.  ..." 
How  often  docs  this  piteous  cry  sound  in  his  letters  towards  the 
end  of  his  life.  "  I  feel  I  am  going  to  die.  ...  I  am  weary  unto 
death  "  (21  August,  1868 — six  months  before  his  death). 

•  Letter  to  Asger  Hammerick,  1865. 


22  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

nothing    that    comforted    him.      He    beHeved    in 
nothing — neither  in  God  nor  immortahty. 

*'  I  have  no  faith.  ...  I  hate  all  philosophy 
and  everything  that  resembles  it,  whether  religious 
or  otherwise.  ...  I  am  as  incapable  of  making  a 
medicine  of  faith  as  of  having  faith  in  medicine."^ 

"  God  is  stupid  and  cruel  in  his  complete 
indifference.  "2 

He  did  not  believe  in  beauty  or  honour,  in  man- 
kind or  himself. 

"  Everything  passes.  Space  and  time  consume 
beauty,  j^outh,  love,  glory,  genius.  Human  life 
is  nothing  ;  death  is  no  better.  Worlds  are  born 
and  die  like  ourselves.  All  is  nothing.  Yes,  yes, 
yes  !  All  is  nothing.  ...  To  love  or  hate,  enjoy 
or  suffer,  admire  or  sneer,  live  or  die — what  does 
it  matter  ?  There  is  nothing  in  greatness  or  little- 
ness, beauty  or  ugliness.  Eternity  is  indifferent ; 
indifference  is  eternal." ^ 

"  I  am  weary  of  life  ;  and  I  am  forced  to  see 
that  belief  in  absurdities  is  necessary  to  human 
minds,  and  that  it  is  born  in  them  as  insects  are 
born  in  swamps."* 

^  Letters  to  the  Princess  of  Wittgenstein,  22  July,  21  Septem- 
ber, 1862  ;    and  August,  1S64. 

'  Alemoires,  II,  335.  He  shocked  Mendelssohn,  and  even 
Wagner,  by  his  irreligion.  (See  Berlioz's  letter  to  W^agner, 
10  September,  1855.) 

^  Les  Grotesques  de  la  Alusique,  pp.  295-6. 

*  Letter  to  the  Abbe  Girod.  See  Hippeau,  Berlioz  intime, 
P-  434- 


BERLIOZ  23 

"  You  make  me  laugh  with  your  old  words 
about  a  mission  to  fulfil.  What  a  missionary  ! 
But  there  is  in  me  an  inexplicable  mechanism 
which  works  in  spite  of  all  arguments  ;  and  I  let 
it  work  because  I  cannot  stop  it.  What  disgusts 
me  most  is  the  certainty  that  beauty  does  not 
exist  for  the  majority  of  these  human  monkeys."  ^ 

"  The  unsolvable  enigma  of  the  w^orld,  the 
existence  of  evil  and  pain,  the  fierce  madness  of 
mankind,  and  the  stupid  cruelty  that  it  inflicts 
hourly  and  everywhere  on  the  most  inoffensive 
beings  and  on  itself — all  this  has  reduced  me  to 
the  state  of  unhappy  and  forlorn  resignation  of  a 
scorpion  surrounded  by  live  coals.  The  most  I 
can  do  is  not  to  wound  myself  with  my  own 
dart."2 

*'  I  am  in  my  sixty-first  year  ;  and  I  have  no 
more  hopes  or  illusions  or  aspirations.  I  am  alone ; 
and  my  contempt  for  the  stupidity  and  dishonesty 
of  men,  and  my  hatred  for  their  wicked  cruelty,  are 
at  their  height.  Every  hour  I  say  to  Death, 
'  When  you  like  !  '    What  is  he  waiting  for  ?  "^ 

And  yet  he  fears  the  death  he  invites.  It  is  the 
strongest,  the  bitterest,  the  truest  feeling  he  has. 
No  musician  since  old  Roland  de  Lassus  has  feared 
it  with  that  intensity.  Do  you  remember  Herod's 
sleepless  nights  in  L'Enfance  du  Christ,  or  Faust's 
soliloquy,  or  the  anguish  of  Cassandra,  or  the  burial  of 

^  Letter    to    Bennet.      He    did    not    believe    in    patriotism. 
"  Patriotism  ?     Fetichism  !     Cretinism  !  "  [Memoires,  II,  261). 
*  Letter  to  the  Princess  of  Wittgenstein,  22  July,  1862. 
2  Memoires,  II,  391 


24  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

Juliette  ? — through  all  this  you  will  find  the 
whispered  fear  of  annihilation.  The  wretched  man 
was  haunted  by  this  fear,  as  a  letter  pubhshed  by 
M.  Julien  Tiersot  shows  : — 

"  My  favourite  walk,  especially  when  it  is 
raining,  really  raining  in  torrents,  is  the  cemetery 
of  Montmartre,  which  is  near  my  house.  I  often 
go  there ;  there  is  much  that  draws  me  to  it.  The 
day  before  yesterday  I  passed  two  hours  in  the 
cemetery ;  I  found  a  comfortable  seat  on  a 
costly  tomb,  and  I  went  to  sleep.  .  .  .  Paris  is 
to  me  a  cemetery  and  her  pavements  are  tomb- 
stones. Everywhere  are  memories  of  friends  or 
enemies  that  are  dead.  ...  I  do  nothing  but  suffer 
unceasing  pain  and  unspeakable  weariness.  I 
wonder  night  and  day  if  I  shall  die  in  great  pain 
or  with  little  of  it — I  am  not  foolish  enough  to  hope 
to  die  without  any  pain  at  all.  Why  are  we  not 
dead  ?  "i 

His  music  is  like  these  mournful  words  ;  it  is 
perhaps  even  more  terrible,  more  gloomy,  for  it 
breathes  death.  ^  What  a  contrast  :  a  soul  greedy 
of  life  and  preyed  upon  by  death.  It  is  this  that 
makes  his  life  such  an  awful  tragedy.  When  Wagner 
met  Berlioz  he  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief — he  had  at 
last  found  a  man  more  unhappy  than  himself. ^ 

1  Letters  to  the  Princess  of  Wittgenstein,  22  Jarnuary,  1859  ; 
30  August,  1864;  13  July,  1866;  and  to  A.  Morel,  21  August,  1864. 

2  "...  Qui  viderit  illas 
De  lacrymis  factas  sentiet  esse  meis," 

wrote  Berlioz,  as  an  inscription  for  his  Tristes  in  1854. 

3  "  One  instantly  recognises  a  companion  in  misfortune  ;  and 
I  found  I  was  a  happier  man  than  Berlioz"  (Wagner  to  Liszt, 
5  July,  1S55). 


BERLIOZ  25 

On  the  threshold  of  death  he  turned  in  despair 
to  the  one  ray  of  Hght  left  him — Stella  montis,  the 
inspiration  of  his  childish  love ;  Estelle,  now  old, 
a  grandmother,  withered  by  age  and  grief.  He  made 
a  pilgrimage  to  Meylan,  near  Grenoble,  to  see  her. 
He  was  then  sixty-one  years  old  and  she  was  nearly 
seventy.  "  The  past !  the  past !  O  Time  !  Never- 
more !     Nevermore  !  "^ 

Nevertheless,  he  loved  her,  and  loved  her  des- 
perately. How  pathetic  it  is.  One  has  little 
inclination  to  smile  when  one  sees  the  depths  of  that 
desolate  heart.  Do  you  think  he  did  not  see,  as 
clearly  as  you  or  I  would  see,  the  wrinkled  old  face, 
the  indifference  of  age,  the  " triste  raisoUy'  in  her 
he  idealised  ?  Remember,  he  was  the  most  ironical 
of  men.  But  he  did  not  wish  to  see  these  things, 
he  wished  to  cling  to  a  little  love,  which  would  help 
him  to  live  in  the  wilderness  of  life. 

"  There  is  nothing  real  in  this  world  but  that 
which  lives  in  the  heart.  .  .  .  My  life  has  been 
wrapped  up  in  the  obscure  little  village  where 
she  lives.  .  .  .  Life  is  only  endurable  when  I  tell 
myself  :  '  This  autumn  I  shall  spend  a  month 
beside  her.'  I  should  die  in  this  hell  of  a  Paris 
if  she  did  not  allow  me  to  write  to  her,  and  if  from 
time  to  time  I  had  not  letters  from  her." 

So  he  spoke  to  Legouve  ;  and  he  sat  down  on  a 
stone  in  a  Paris  street,  and  wept.  In  the  meantime, 
the  old  lady  did  not  understand  this  foolishness  ;  she 
hardly  tolerated  it,  and  sought  to  undeceive  him. 

^  Aleynoires,  II,  396. 


26  MUSICIANS  Of  TO-DAY 

"  When  one's  hair  is  white  one  must  leave 
dreams — even  those  of  friendship.  ...  Of  what 
use  is  it  to  form  ties  which,  though  they  hold 
to-day,  may  break  to-morrow  ?  " 

What  were  his  dreams  ?  To  live  with  her  ?  No  ; 
rather  to  die  beside  her  ;  to  feel  she  was  by  his  side 
when  death  should  come. 

"To  be  at  your  feet,  my  head  on  your  knees, 
your  two  hands  in  mine — so  to  finish."^ 

He  was  a  little  child  grown  old,  and  felt  bewildered 
and  miserable  and  frightened  before  the  thought 
of  death. 

Wagner,  at  the  same  age,  a  victor,  worshipped, 
flattered,  and — if  we  are  to  believe  the  Bayreuth 
legend — crowned  with  prosperity  ;  Wagner,  sad  and 
suffering,  doubting  his  achievements,  feeling  the 
inanity  of  his  bitter  fight  against  the  mediocrity  of 
the  world,  had  "  fled  far  from  the  world  "^  and 
thrown  himself  into  religion  ;  and  when  a  friend 
looked  at  him  in  surprise  as  he  was  saying  grace 
at  table,  he  answered  :  "  Yes,  I  believe  in  my 
Saviour.  "2 

^  Memoires,  II,  415. 

2  "  Yes,  it  is  to  that  escape  from  the  world  that  Parsifal 
owes  its  birth  and  growth.  What  man  can,  during  a  whole  life- 
time, gaze  into  the  depths  of  this  world  with  a  calm  reason  and 
a  cheerful  heart  ?  When  he  sees  murder  and  rapine  organised 
and  legalised  by  a  system  of  lies,  impostures,  and  hypocrisy, 
will  he  not  avert  his  eyes  and  shudder  with  disgust  ?  "  (Wagner, 
Representations  of  the  Sacred  Drama  of  Parsifal  at  Bayreuth,  in 
1882.) 

3  The  scene  was  described  to  me  by  his  friend,  Malwida  von 
Meysenbug,  the  calm  and  fearless  author  of  Memoires  d'une 
Idealiste. 


BERLIOZ  27 

Poor  beings  !  Conquerors  of  the  world,  conquered 
and  broken  ! 

But  of  the  two  deaths,  how  much  sadder  is  that 
of  the  artist  who  w^as  without  a  faith,  and  who  had 
neither  strength  nor  stoicism  enough  to  be  happy 
without  one  ;  who  slowly  died  in  that  little  room 
in  the  rue  de  Calais  amid  the  distracting  noise  of  an 
indifferent  and  even  hostile  Paris ;  ^  who  shut  himself 
up  in  savage  silence ;  who  saw  no  loved  face  bending 
over  him  in  his  last  moments  ;  who  had  not  the 
comfort  of  belief  in  his  work  ;  ^  who  could  not 
think  calmly  of  what  he  had  done,  nor  look  proudly 
back  over  the  road  he  had  trodden,  nor  rest  content 
in  the  thought  of  a  life  w^ell  lived  ;  and  w^ho  began 
and  closed  his  Memoir es  with  Shakespeare's  gloomy 
w^ords,  and  repeated  them  when  dying  : — 

"  Life's  but  a  walking  shadow,  a  poor  player 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  tha  stage 
And  then  is  heard  no  more  :  it  is  a  tale 
Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 
Signifying  nothing."  ^ 

1  "  I  have  only  blank  walls  before  my  windows.  On  the  side 
of  the  street  a  pug  dog  has  been  barking  for  an  hour,  a  parrot 
screaming,  and  a  parroqueet  imitating  the  chirp  of  sparrows. 
On  the  side  of  the  yard  the  washerwomen  are  singing,  and 
another  parroqueet  cries  incessantly,  '  Shoulder  arrms  !  '  How 
long  the  day  is  !  " 

"  The  maddening  noise  of  carriages  shakes  the  silence  of  the 
night.  Paris  wet  and  muddy  !  Parisian  Paris  !  Now  every- 
thing is  quiet  .  .  .  she  is  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  unjust  " 
(Written  to  Ferrand,  Lettres  intimes,  pp.  269  and  302). 

2  He  used  to  say  that  nothing  would  remain  of  his  work  ; 
that  he  had  deceived  himself  ;  and  that  he  would  have  liked  to 
burn  his  scores. 

2  Blaze  de  Bury  met  him  one  autumn  evening,  on  the  quay, 
just  before  his  death,  as  he  was  returning  from  the  Institute. 
"  His  face  was  pale,  his  figure  wasted  and  bent,  and  his  expression 
dejected  and  nervous  ;    one  might  have  taken  him  for  a  walking 


28  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Such  was  the  unhappy  and  irresolute  heart  that 
found  itself  united  to  one  of  the  most  daring  geniuses 
in  the  world.  It  is  a  striking  example  of  the  differ- 
ence that  may  exist  between  genius  and  greatness 
— for  the  two  words  are  not  S3monymous.  When 
one  speaks  of  greatness,  one  speaks  of  greatness 
of  soul,  nobility  of  character,  firmness  of  will, 
and,  above  all,  balance  of  mind.  I  can  under- 
stand how  people  deny  the  existence  of  these 
qualities  in  Berlioz ;  but  to  deny  his  musical 
genius,  or  to  cavil  about  his  wonderful  power — 
and  that  is  what  they  do  daily  in  Paris — is  lament- 
able and  ridiculous.  Whether  he  attracts  one  or 
not,  a  thimbleful  of  some  of  his  work,  a  single  part 
in  one  of  his  works,  a  little  bit  of  the  Fantastique 
or  the  overture  of  Benvenuto,  reveal  more  genius 
— I  am  not  afraid  to  say  it — than  all  the  French 
music  of  his  century.  I  can  understand  people 
arguing  about  him  in  a  country  that  produced 
Beethoven  and  Bach  ;  but  with  us  in  France,  who 
can  we  set  up  against  him  ?  Gluck  and  Cesar 
Franck  were  much  greater  men,  but  they  were 
never  geniuses  of  his  stature.  If  genius  is  a 
creative  force,  I  cannot  find  more  than  four  or 
five  geniuses  in  the  world  who  rank  above  him. 
When  I  have  named    Beethoven,    Mozart,    Bach, 

shadow.  Even  his  eyes,  those  large  round  hazel  eyes,  had  ex- 
tinguished their  fire.  For  a  second  he  clasped  my  hand  in  his 
own  thin,  lifeless  one,  and  repeated,  in  a  voice  that  was  hardly 
more  than  a  whisper,  ^Eschylus's  words  :  '  Oh,  this  life  of  man  ! 
When  he  is  happy  a  shadow  is  -enough  to  disturb  him  ;  and 
when  he  is  unhappy  his  trouble  may  be  wiped  away,  as  with  a 
wet  sponge,  and  all  is  forgotten  '  "  {Musiciens  d'hier  et  d' an  jour  d'- 
hui). 


BERLIOZ  29 

Handel,  and  Wagner,  I  do  not  know  who  else  is 
superior  to  Berlioz  ;  I  do  not  even  know  who  is  his 
equal. 

He  is  not  only  a  musician,  he  is  music  itself.  He 
does  not  command  his  familiar  spirit,  he  is  its 
slave.  Those  who  know  his  writings  know  how  he 
was  simply  possessed  and  exhausted  by  his  musical 
emotions.  They  were  really  fits  of  ecstasy  or  con- 
vulsions. At  first  "  there  was  feverish  excitement ; 
the  veins  beat  violently  and  tears  flowed  freely. 
Then  came  spasmodic  contractions  of  the  muscles, 
total  numbness  of  the  feet  and  hands,  and  partial 
paralysis  of  the  nerves  of  sight  and  hearing ;  he 
saw  nothing,  heard  nothing  ;  he  was  giddy  and 
half  faint."  And  in  the  case  of  music  that  displeased 
him,  he  suffered,  on  the  contrary,  from  "  a  painful 
sense  of  bodily  disquiet  and  even  from  nausea.  "^ 

The  possession  that  music  held  over  his  nature 
shows  itself  clearly  in  the  sudden  outbreak  of  his 
genius.  2  His  family  opposed  the  idea  of  his  becom- 
ing a  musician  ;  and  until  he  was  twenty-two  or 
twenty-three  years  old  his  weak  will  sulkily  gave 
way  to  their  wishes.  In  obedience  to  his  father  he 
began  his  studies  in  medicine  at  Paris.  One  evening 
he  heard  Les  Danatdes  of  Salieri.  It  came  upon 
him  like  a  thunderclap.  He  ran  to  the  Conservatoire 
library  and  read  Gluck's  scores.     He  forgot  to  eat 

^  A  travers  chants,  pp.  8-9. 

-  In  truth,  this  genuis  was  smouldering  since  his  childhood  ; 
it  was  there  from  the  beginning  ;  and  the  proof  of  it  lies  in  the 
fact  that  he  used  for  his  Ouverture  des  Francs- J itges  and  for  the 
Symphonie  fantastique  airs  and  phrases  of  quintets  which  he  had 
written  when  twelve  years  old  (see  Memoires,  I,  16-18). 


30  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

and  drink  ;  he  was  like  a  man  in  a  frenzy.  A  per- 
formance of  Iphigenie  en  Tauride  finished  him.  He 
studied  under  Lesueur  and  then  at  the  Conser- 
vatoire. The  following  year,  1827,  he  composed 
Les  Francs- Jiiges ;  two  years  afterwards  the  Huit 
scenes  de  Faust,  which  was  the  nucleus  of  the  future 
Damnation  :^  three  years  afterwards,  the  Symphonie 
fantastique  (commenced  in  1830). ^  And  he  had  not 
yet  got  the  Prix  de  Rome  I  Add  to  this  that  in 
1828  he  had  already  ideas  for  Romeo  et  Juliette, 
and  that  he  had  written  a  part  of  Lelio  in  1829. 
Can  one  find  elsewhere  a  more  dazzling  musical 
debut  ?  Compare  that  of  Wagner  who,  at  the  same 
age,  was  shyly  writing  Les  Fies,  Defense  d'aimer, 
and  Rienzi.  He  wrote  them  at  the  same  age,  but 
ten  years  later ;  for  Les  Fees  appeared  in  1833, 
when  Berlioz  had  already  written  the  Fantastique, 
the  Huit  semes  de  Faust,  Lelio,  and  Harold  ;  Rienzi 
was  only  played  in  1842,  after  Benvenuto  (1835), 
Le  Requiem  (1837),  Liomeo  (1839),  -^^  Symphonie 
funebre  et  triomphale  (1840) — that  is  to  say,  when 

^  The  Huit  scenes  de  Faust  are  taken  from  Goethe's  tragedy, 
translated  by  Gerard  de  Nerval,  and  they  include  :  (i)  Chants  de 
la  fete  de  Pdques  ;  (2)  Paysans  sous  les  tilleuls  ;  (3)  Concert  des 
Sylphes  :  (4  and  5)  Taverne  d'Auerbach,  with  the  two  songs  of 
the  Rat  and  the  Flea  ;  (6)  C<hanson  du  roi  de  Thule  ;  (7)  Romance 
de  Marguerite,  "  D'amour,  I'ardente  flamme,"  and  Chasur  de 
soldats  ;  (8)  Serenade  de  Mephistopheles — that  is  to  say,  the 
most  celebrated  and  characteristic  pages  of  the  Damnation  (see 
M.  Prudhomme's  essays  on  Le  Cycle  de  Berlioz). 

2  One  could  hardly  find  a  better  manifestation  of  the  soul  ot 
a  youthful  musical  genius  than  that  in  certain  letters  written  at 
this  time  ;  in  particular  the  letter  written  to  Ferrand  on  28  June, 
1828,  with  its  feverish  postscript.  What  a  life  of  rich  and  over- 
flowing vigour  !  It  is  a  joy  to  read  it ;  one  drinks  ai  the  source 
of  life  itself. 


BERLIOZ  31 

Berlioz  had  finished  all  his  great  works,  and  after 
he  had  achieved  his  musical  revolution.  And  that 
revolution  was  effected  alone,  without  a  model, 
without  a  guide.  What  could  he  have  heard  beyond 
the  operas  of  Gluck  and  Spontini  while  he  was  at  the 
Conservatoire  ?  At  the  time  when  he  composed 
the  Ouverture  des  Francs-Juges  even  the  name  of 
Weber  was  unknown  to  him,^  and  of  Beethoven's 
compositions  he  had  only  heard  an  andante.^ 

Truly,  he  is  a  miracle  and  the  most  startling 
phenomenon  in  the  history  of  nineteenth-century 
music.  His  audacious  power  dominates  all  his  age  ; 
and  in  the  face  of  such  a  genius,  who  would  not 
follow  Paganini's  example,  and  hail  him  as  Beet- 
hoven's only  successor  ?  ^  Who  does  not  see  what 
a  poor  figure  the  young  Wagner  cut  at  that  time, 
working  away  in  laborious  and  self-satisfied  medio- 
crity ?  But  W^agner  soon  made  up  for  lost  ground  ; 
for  he  knew  what  he  wanted,  and  he  wanted  it 
obstinately. 

The  zenith  of  Berlioz's  genius  was  reached,  when 
he  was  thirty-five  years  old,  with  the  Requiem  and 
Romeo.  They  are  his  two  most  important  works, 
and  are  two  works  about  which  one  may  feel  very 
differently.     For  my  part,  I  am  very  fond  of  the 

*  Memoires,  I,  70. 

'  Ihid.  To  make  amends  for  this  he  published,  in  1829,  a 
biographical  notice  of  Beethoven,  in  which  his  appreciation  of 
him  is^  remarkably  in  advance  of  his  age.  He  wrote  there  : 
"  The  Choral  Symphony  is  the  culminating  point  of  Beethoven's 
genius,"  and  he  speaks  of  the  Fourth  Symphony  in  C  sharp 
minor  with  great  discernment. 

'  Beethoven  died  in  1827,  the  year  when  Berlioz  was  writing 
his  first  important  work,  the  Ouverture  des  Francs-Juges. 


32  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

one,  and  I  dislike  the  other ;  but  both  of  them 
open  up  two  great  new  roads  in  art,  and  both  are 
placed  like  two  gigantic  arches  on  the  triumphal 
way  of  the  revolution  that  Berlioz  started.  I  will 
return  to  the  subject  of  these  works  later. 

But  Berlioz  was  already  getting  old.  His  daily 
cares  and  stormy  domestic  life/  his  disappointments 
and  passions,  his  commonplace  and  often  degrading 
work,  soon  wore  him  out  and,  finally,  exhausted  his 
power.  "  Would  you  believe  it  ?  "  he  wrote  to  his 
friend  Ferrand,  "  that  which  used  to  stir  me  to 
transports  of  musical  passion  now  fills  me  with 
indifference,  or  even  disdain.  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
descending  a  mountain  at  a  great  rate.  Life  is  so 
short ;  I  notice  that  thoughts  of  the  end  have  been 
with  me  for  some  time  past."  In  1848,  at  forty-five 
years  old,  he  wrote  in  his  Memoires  :  "  1  find  myself 
so  old  and  tired  and  lacking  inspiration."  At  forty- 
five  years  old,  Wagner  had  patiently  worked  out 
his  theories  and  was  feeling  his  power  ;  at  forty- 
five  he  was  wTiting  Tristan  and  The  Music  of  the 
Future.  Abused  by  critics,  unknown  to  the  public, 
"  he  remained  calm,  in  the  belief  that  he  would  be 
master  of  the  musical  world  in  fifty  years'  time."' 

Berlioz  was  disheartened.  Life  had  conquered 
him.  It  was  not  that  he  had  lost  any  of  his  artistic 
mastery  ;  on  the  contrary,  his  compositions  became 
more  and  more  finished  ;  and  nothing  in  his  earlier 
work  attained  the  pure  beauty  of  some  of  the  pages 
of  UEnfance  du  Christ  (1850-4),  or  of  Les  Troyens 

1  He  left  Henrietta  Smithson  in  1842  ;    she  died  in  1854. 
*  Written  by  Beriioz  himself,  in  irony,  in  a  letter  of  1S55. 


BERLIOZ  33 

(1855-63).  But  he  was  losing  his  power  ;  and  his 
intense  feehng,  his  revolutionary  ideas,  and  his 
inspiration  (which  in  his  youth  had  taken  the 
place  of  the  confidence  he  lacked)  were  failing  him. 
He  now  lived  on  the  past — the  Hiiit  scenes  de  Faust 
(1828)  held  the  germs  of  La  Damnation  de  Faust 
(1846)  ;  since  1833  he  had  been  thinking  of  Beatrice 
ct  Benedict  (1862)  ;  the  ideas  in  Les  Troyens  were 
inspired  by  his  childish  worship  of  Virgil,  and  had 
been  with  him  all  his  life.  But  with  what  difficulty 
he  now  finished  his  task !  He  had  only  taken  seven 
months  to  wTite  Romeo,  and  "  on  account  of  not 
being  able  to  write  the  Requiem  fast  enough,  he  had 
adopted  a  kind  of  musical  shorthand  " ;  ^  but  he 
took  seven  or  eight  years  to  write  Les  Troyens, 
alternating  between  moods  of  enthusiasm  and 
disgust,  and  feeling  indifference  and  doubt  about 
his  work.  He  groped  his  way  hesitatingly  and 
unsteadily ;  he  hardly  understood  what  he  was 
doing.  He  admired  the  more  mediocre  pages  of  his 
work  :  the  scene  of  the  Laocoon,  the  finale  of  the 
last  act  of  the  Les  Troyens  a  Troie,  the  last  scene 
with  iEneas  in  Les  Troyens  a  Carthage. '^  The  empty 
pomposities  of  Spontini  mingle  with  the  loftiest 
conceptions.  One  might  say  that  his  genius  became 
a  stranger  to  him  :    it  was  the  mechanical  work  of 

^  Memoir es,  I,  307. 

'  About  this  time  he  wrote  to  Liszt  regarding  L'Enfance  dii 
Christ  :  "I  think  I  have  hit  upon  something  good  in  Herod's 
scena  and  air  with  the  soothsayers  ;  it  is  full  of  character,  and 
will,  I  hope,  please  you.  There  are,  perhaps,  more  graceful  and 
pleasing  things,  but  with  the  exception  of  the  Bethlehem  duet, 
I  do  not  think  they  have  the  same  quaUty  of  originaUty  " 
(17  December,  1854). 


34  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

an  unconscious  force,  like  "  stalactites  in  a  dripping 
grotto.""  He  had  no  impetus.  It  was  only  a  matter 
of  time  before  the  roof  of  the  grotto  would  give  way. 
One  is  struck  with  the  mournful  despair  with  which 
he  works  ;  it  is  his  last  will  and  testament  that  he 
is  making.  And  when  he  has  finished  it,  he  will 
have  finished  everything.  His  work  is  ended  ;  if 
he  lived  anbther  hundred  years  he  would  not  have 
the  heart  to  add  anything  more  to  it.  The  only 
thing  that  remains — and  it  is  what  he  is  about  to 
do — is  to  wrap  himself  in  silence  and  die. 

Oh,  mournful  destiny  !  There  are  great  men 
who  have  outlived  their  genius  ;  but  with  Berlioz 
genius  outlived  desire.  His  genius  was  still  there  ; 
one  feels  it  in  the  sublime  pages  of  the  third  act 
of  Les  Troyens  a  Carthage.  But  Berlioz  had  ceased 
to  believe  in  his  power ;  he  had  lost  faith  in  every- 
thing. His  genius  was  dying  for  want  of  nourish- 
ment ;  it  was  a  flame  above  an  empty  tomb.  At 
the  same  hour  of  his  old  age  the  soul  of  Wagner 
sustained  its  glorious  flight ;  and,  having  con- 
quered everything,  it  achieved  a  supreme  victory 
in  renouncing  everything  for  its  faith.  And  the 
divine  songs  of  Parsifal  resounded  as  in  a  splendid 
temple,  and  rephed  to  the  cries  of  the  suffering 
Amfortas  by  the  blessed  words  :  "  Selig  in  Glauben  I 
S-elig  in  Liebe !  " 


BERLIOZ  35 


II 


Berlioz's  work  did  not  spread  itself  evenly  over 
his  life  ;  it  was  accomplished  in  a  few  years.  It  was 
not  like  the  course  of  a  great  river,  as  with  Wagner 
and  Beetheven  ;  it  was  a  burst  of  genius,  whose 
flames  lit  up  the  whole  sky  for  a  little  while,  and 
then  died  gradually  down.^  Let  me  try  to  tell  you 
about  this  wonderful  blaze. 

Some  of  Berlioz's  musical  qualities  are  so  striking 
that  it  is  unnecessary  to  dwell  upon  them  here. 
His  instrumental  colouring,  so  intoxicating  and 
exciting,  2  his  extraordinary  discoveries  concerning 
timbre,  his  inventions  of  new  nuances  (as  in  the 
famous  combining  of  flutes  and  trombones  in  the 
Hostias  et  preces  of  the  Requiem,  and  the  curious 
use  of  the  harmonics  of  violins  and  harps),  and  his 
huge  and  nebulous  orchestra — all  this  lends  itself 
to  the  most  subtle  expression  of  thought. ^  Think  of 
the  effect  that  such  works  must  have  produced  at 

^  In  1830,  old  Rouget  de  Lisle  called  Berlioz,  "  a  volcano  in 
eruption  "  {Memoires,  I,  158). 

2  M.  Camille  Saint-Saens  wrote  in  his  Portraits  et  Souvenirs, 
1900  :  "  Whoever  reads  Berlioz's  scores  before  hearing  them 
played  can  have  no  real  idea  of  their  effect.  The  instruments 
appear  to  be  arranged  in  defiance  of  all  common  sense  ;  and  it 
would  seem,  to  use  professional  slang,  that  cela  ne  diit  pas  sonner, 
but  cela  sonne  wonderfully.  If  we  find  here  and  there  obscurities 
of  style,  they  do  not  appear  in  the  orchestra  ;  light  streams 
into  it  and  plays  there  as  in  the  facets  of  a  diamond." 

3  See  the  excellent  essay  of  H.  Lavoix,  in  his  Histoire  de 
V Instrumentation.  It  should  be  noticed  that  Berlioz's  obser- 
vations in  his  Traite  d'instnunentation  et  d' orchestration  modernes 
(1844)  have  not  been  lost  upon  Richard  Strauss,  who  has  just 
published  a  German  edition  of  the  work,  and  some  of  whose 
most  famous  orchestral  effects  are  realisations  of  Berlioz's  ideas, 


36  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

that  period.  Berlioz  was  the  first  to  be  astonished 
when  he  heard  them  for  the  first  time.  At  the 
Ouveriure  des  Francs-Jiiges  he  wept  and  tore  his 
hair,  and  fell  sobbing  on  the  kettledrums.  At  the 
performance  of  his  Taha  niirum,  in  Berlin,  he  nearly 
fainted.  The  composer  who  most  nearly  approached 
him  was  Weber,  and,  as  we  have  already  seen,  Berlioz 
only  knew  him  late  in  life.  But  how  much  less  rich 
and  complex  is  Weber's  music,  in  spite  of  its  nervous 
brilliance  and  dreaming  poetry.  Above  all,  Weber 
is  much  more  mundane  and  more  of  a  classicist ; 
he  lacks  Berlioz's  revolutionary  passion  and 
plebeian  force ;  he  is  less  expressive  and  less 
grand. 

How  did  Berlioz  come  to  have  this  genius  for 
orchestration  almost  from  the  very  first  ?  He  himself 
says  that  his  two  masters  at  the  Conservatoire 
taught  him  nothing  in  point  of  instrumentation  : — 

"  Lesueur  had  only  very  limited  ideas  about 
the  art.  Reicha  knew  the  particular  resources 
of  most  of  the  wind  instruments  ;  but  I  think 
that  he  had  not  very  advanced  ideas  on  the  subject 
of  grouping  them." 

Berlioz  taught  himself.  He  used  to  read  the 
score  of  an  opera  while  it  was  being  performed. 

"  It  was  thus,"  he  says,^  "  that  I  began  to  get 

1  One  may  judge  of  this  instinct  by  one  fact :  he  wrote  the 
overtures  of  Lcs  Francs- J uges  and  Wavcrley  without  really 
knowing  if  it  were  possible  to  play  them.  "  I  was  so  ignorant,' 
he  says,  "  of  the  mechanism  of  certain  instruments,  that  after 
having  written  the  solo  io  D  flat  for  the  trombone  in  the  Intrg- 


BERLIOZ  37 

familiar  with  the  use  of  the  orchestra,  and  to 
know  its  expression  and  timbre,  as  well  as  the 
range  and  mechanism  of  most  of  the  instruments. 
By  carefully  comparing  the  effect  produced  with 
the  means  used  to  produce  it,  I  learned  the 
hidden  bond  which  unites  musical  expression  to 
the  special  art  of  instrumentation  ;  but  no  one 
put  me  in  the  way  of  this.  The  study  of  the 
methods  of  the  three  modern  masters,  Beethoven, 
Weber,  and  Spontini,  the  impartial  examination 
of  the  traditions  of  instrumentation  and  of  little- 
used  forms  and  combinations,  conversations  with 
virtuosi,  and  the  effects  I  made  them  try  on  their 
different  instruments,  together  with  a  little 
instinct,  did  the  rest  for  me."i 

That  he  was  an  originator  in  this  direction  no 
one  doubts.  And  no  one  disputes,  as  a  rule,  "  his 
devilish  cleverness,"  as  Wagner  scornfully  called  it, 
or  remains  insensible  to  his  skill  and  mastery  in  the 
mechanism  of  expression,  and  his  power  over 
sonorous  matter,  which  make  him,  apart  from  his 
creative  power,  a  sort  of  magician  of  music,  a  king 
of  tone  and  rhythm.  This  gift  is  recognised  even 
by  his  enemies — by  Wagner,  who  seeks  with  some 
unfairness  to  restrict  his  genius  within  narrow 
limits,  and  to  reduce  it  to  "  a  structure  with  wheels 

duction  of  Les  Francs- Juges,  I  feared  it  would  be  terribly  difficult 
to  play.  So  I  went,  very  anxious,  to  one  of  the  trombonists  of 
the  Opera  orchestra.  He  looked  at  the  passage  and  reassured 
me.  '  The  key  of  D  flat  is,'  he  said,  '  one  of  the  pleasantest  for 
that  instrument ;  and  you  can  count  on  a  splendid  effect  for 
that  passage  '  "  (Memoires,  I,  63). 
^  Memoires,  I,  64. 


38  MUSICIANS  OF  TO-DAY 

of  infinite  ingenuity  and  extreme  cunning  ...  a 
marvel  of  mechanism. "^ 

But  though  there  is  hardly  anyone  that  Berlioz 
does  not  irritate  or  attract,  he  always  strikes  people 
by  his  impetuous  ardour,  his  glowing  romance,  and 
his  seething  imagination,  all  of  which  makes  and 
will  continue  to  make  his  work  one  of  the  most 
picturesque  mirrors  of  his  age.  His  frenzied  force 
of  ecstasy  and  despair,  his  fulness  of  love  and 
hatred,  his  perpetual  thirst  for  life,  which  "  in  the 
heart  of  the  deepest  sorrow  lights  the  Catherine 
w^heels  and  crackers  of  the  wildest  joy  "^ — these  are 
the  qualities  that  stir  up  the  crowds  in  Benvenuto 
and  the  armies  in  the  Damnation,  that  shake  earth, 
heaven,  and  hell,  and  are  never  quenched,  but 
remain  devouring  and  "  passionate  even  when  the 
subject  is  far  removed  from  passion,  and  yet  also 
express  sweet  and  tender  sentiments  and  th^ 
deepest  calm."^ 

^  "  Berlioz  displayed,  in  calculating  the  properties  v>i 
mechanism,  a  really  astounding  scientific  knowledge.  If  the 
inventors  of  our  modern  industrial  machinery  are  to  be  con- 
sidered benefactors  of  humanity  to-day,  Berlioz  deserves  to  be 
considered  as  the  true  saviour  of  the  musical  world  ;  for,  thanks 
to  him,  musicians  can  produce  surprising  effects  in  music  by  the 
varied  use  of  simple  mechanical  means.  .  .  .  Berlioz  lies  hope- 
lessly buried  beneath  the  ruins  of  his  own  contrivances  "  {Oper 
mid  Drama,  1851). 

2  Letter  from  Berlioz  to  Ferrand. 

^  "  The  chief  characteristics  of  my  music  are  passionate  ex- 
pression, inward  warmth,  rhythmic  in  pulses,  and  unforeseen 
effects.  When  I  speak  of  passionate  expression,  I  mean  an 
expression  that  desperately  strives  to  reproduce  the  inward 
feeling  of  its  subject,  even  when  the  theme  is  contrary  to  passion, 
and  deals  with  gentle  emotions  or  the  deepest  calm.  It  is  this 
kind  of  expression  that  may  be  found  in  L'Enfance  du  Christ, 
and,  above  all,  in  the  scene  of  Le  del  in  the  Damnation  de  Faust 
and  in  the  Sanctus  of  the  Requiem  "  {Memoires,  II,  361). 


BERLIOZ  39 

Whatever  one  may  think  of  this  volcanic  force, 
of  this  torrential  stream  of  youth  and  passion, 
it  is  impossible  to  deny  them  ;  one  might  as  well 
deny  the  sun. 

And  I  shall  not  dwell  on  Berlioz's  love  of  Nature, 
which,  as  M.  Prudhomme  shows  us,  is  the  soul  of  a 
composition  like  the  Damnation  and,  one  might  say, 
of  all  great  compositions.  No  musician,  with  the 
exception  of  Beethoven,  has  loved  Nature  so  pro- 
foundly. Wagner  himself  did  not  realise  the 
intensity  of  emotion  which  she  roused  in  Berlioz,^ 
and  how  this  feeling  impregnated  the  music  of  the 
Damnation,  of  Romeo,  and  of  Les  Troyens. 

But  this  genius  had  other  characteristics  which 
are  less  well  known,  though  they  are  not  less 
unusual.  The  first  is  his  sense  of  pure  beauty. 
Berlioz's  exterior  romanticism  must  not  make  us 
blind  to  this.  He  had  a  Virgilian  soul ;  and  if  his 
colouring  recalls  that  of  Weber,  his  design  has  often 
an  Italian  suavity.  Wagner  never  had  this  love 
of  beauty  in  the  Latin  sense  of  the  word.  Who 
has  understood  the  Southern  nature,  beautiful  form, 
and  harmonious  movement  like  Berlioz  ?  Who, 
since  Gluck,  has  recognised  so  well  the  secret  of 
classical  beauty  ?  Since  Orfeo  was  composed,  no 
one  has  carved  in  music  a  bas-relief  so  perfect  as 

^  "  So  you  are  in  the  midst  of  melting  glaciers  in  your 
Niebelungen  !  To  be  writing  in  the  presence  of  Nature  herself 
must  be  splendid.  It  is  an  enjoyment  which  I  am  denied. 
Beautiful  landscapes,  lofty  peaks,  or  great  stretches  of  sea, 
absorb  me  instead  of  evoking  ideas  in  me.  I  feel,  but  I  cannot 
express  what  I  feel.  I  can  only  paint  the  moon  when  I  see  its 
reflection  in  the  bottom  of  a  well  "  (Berlioz  to  Wagner,  lo 
September,  1855). 


40  ^lUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

che  entrance  of  Andromache  in  the  second  act  of 
Les  Troyens  d  Troie.  In  Les  Troyens  d  Carthage, 
the  fragrance  of  the  iEneid  is  shed  over  the  night 
of  love,  and  we  see  the  luminous  sky  and  hear  the 
murmur  of  the  sea.  Some  of  his  melodies  are  like 
statues,  or  the  pure  lines  of  Athenian  friezes,  or  the 
noble  gesture  of  beautiful  Italian  girls,  or  the 
undulating  profile  of  the  Albanian  hills  filled  with 
divine  laughter.  He  has  done  more  than  felt  and 
translated  into  music  the  beauty  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean— he  has  created  beings  worthy  of  a  Greek 
tragedy.  His  Cassandre  alone  would  suffice  to 
rank  him  among  the  greatest  tragic  poets  that 
music  has  ever  know^n.  And  Cassandre  is  a  worthy 
sister  of  Wagner's  Briinnhilde  ;  but  she  has  the 
advantage  of  coming  of  a  nobler  race,  and  of 
having  a  lofty  restraint  of  spirit  and  action  that 
Sophocles  himself  would  have  loved. 

Not  enough  attention  has  been  drawn  to  the 
classical  nobility  from  which  Berlioz's  art  so  spon- 
taneously springs.  It  is  not  fully  acknowledged  that 
he  was,  of  all  nineteenth-century  musicians,  the 
one  who  had  in  the  highest  degree  the  sense  of 
plastic  beauty.  Nor  do  people  always  recognise 
that  he  was  a  writer  of  sweet  and  flowing  melodies. 
Weingartner  expressed  the  surprise  he  felt  when, 
imbued  wdth  current  prejudice  against  Berlioz's 
lack  of  melodic  invention,  he  opened,  by  chance, 
the  score  of  the  overture  of  Benvenuio  and  found  in 
that  short  composition,  which  barely  takes  ten 
minutes  to  play,  not  one  or  two,  but  four  or  five 
melodies  of  admirable  richness  and  originality  :^ 


BERLIOZ  41 

"  I  began  to  laugh,  both  with  pleasure  at 
having  discovered  such  a  treasure,  and  with 
annoyance  at  finding  how  narrow  human  judg- 
ment is.  Here  I  counted  five  themes,  all  of  them 
plastic  and  expressive  of  personality  ;  of  admir- 
able workmanship,  varied  in  form,  working  up  by 
degrees  to  a  climax,  and  then  finishing  with 
strong  effect.  And  ^this  from  a  composer  who 
was  said  by  critics  and  the  public  to  be  devoid 
of  creative  power  !  From  that  day  on  there  has 
been  for  me  another  great  citizen  in  the  republic 
of  art.'i 

Before  this,  Berlioz  had  written  in  1864  : — 

"  It  is  quite  easy  for  others  to  convince  them- 
selves that,  without  even  limiting  me  to  take  a 
very  short  melody  as  the  theme  of  a  composition — 
as  the  greatest  musicians  have  often  done — I  have 
always  endeavoured  to  put  a  wealth  of  melody 
into  my  compositions.  One  may,  of  course, 
dispute  the  worth  of  these  melodies,  their  dis- 
tinction, originality,  or  charm — ^it  is  not  for  me 
to  judge  them — but  to  deny  their  existence  is 
either  unfair  or  foolish.  They  are  often  on  a 
large  scale ;  and  an  immature  or  short-sighted 
musical  vision  may  not  clearly  distinguish  their 
form  ;  or,  again,  they  may  be  accompanied  by 
secondary  melodies  which,  to  a  limited  vision, 
may  veil  the  form  of  the  principal  ones.  Or, 
lastly,  shallow  musicians  may  find  these  melodies 
so  unlike  the  funny  little  things  that  they  call 
1  Musikfiihrer,  29  November,  1903. 


42  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

melodies,  that  they  cannot  bring  themselves  to 
give  the  same  name  to  both.''^ 

And  what  a  splendid  variety  there  is  in  these 
melodies  :  there  is  the  song  in  Gluck's  style  (Cas- 
sandre's  airs),  the  pure  German  lied  (Marguerite's 
song,  "  D 'amour  I'ardente  fiamme  "),  the  Italian 
melody,  after  Bellini,  in  its  most  limpid  and  happy 
form  (arietta  of  Arlequin  in  Benvennio),  the  broad 
Wagnerian  phrase  (finale  of  Rom^o),  the  folk-song 
(chorus  of  shepherds  in  L'Enfance  du  Christ), 
and  the  freest  and  most  modern  recitative  (the 
monologues  of  Faust),  which  was  Berlioz's  own 
invention,  with  its  full  development,  its  pliant 
outline,  and  its  intricate  nuances.  ^ 

I  have  said  that  Berlioz  had  a  matchless  gift  for 
expressing  tragic  melancholy,  weariness  of  life,  and 
the  pangs  of  death.  In  a  general  way,  one  may  say 
that  he  was  a  great  elegist  in  music.  Ambros,  who 
was  a  very  discerning  and  unbiassed  critic,  said  : 
"  Berlioz  feels  with  inward  delight  and  profound 
emotion  what  no  musician,  except  Beethoven,  has 
felt  before."  And  Heinrich  Heine  had  a  keen 
perception  of  Berlioz's  originality  when  he  called 
him  "  a  colossal  nightingale,  a  lark  the  size  of  an 
eagle."  The  simile  is  not  only  picturesque,  but  of 
remarkable  aptness.  For  Berlioz's  colossal  force 
is  at  the  service  of  a  folom  and  tender  heart ;  he 
has  nothing  of  the  heroism  of  Beethoven,  or  Handel, 

1  Mdmoires,  II,  361. 

2  M.  Jean  Marnold  has  remarked  this  genius  for  monody  in 
Berlioz  in  his  article  on  Hector  Berlioz,  mtisicien  {Mercure  de 
France,  15  January,  and  i  February,  1903). 


BERLIOZ  43 

or  Gluck,  or  even  Schubert.  He  has  all  the  charm 
of  an  Umbrian  painter,  as  is  shown  in  L'Enfance  du 
Christ,  as  we41  as  sweetness  and  inward  sadness,  the 
gift  of  tears,  and  an  elegiac  passion. 


Now  I  come  to  BerHoz's  great  originaHty,  an 
originality  which  is  rarely  spoken  of,  thongh  it 
makes  him  more  than  a  great  musician,  more  than 
the  successor  of  Beethoven,  or,  as  some  call  him, 
the  forerunner  of  Wagner.  It  is  an  originality  that 
entities  him  to  be  known,  even  more  fitly  than 
Wagner  himself,  as  the  creator  of  **  an  art  of  the 
future,"  the  apostle  of  a  new  music,  which  even 
to-day  has  hardly  made  itself  felt. 

Berlioz  is  original  in  a  double  sense.  By  the 
extraordinary  complexity  of  his  genius  he  touched 
the  two  opposite  poles  of  his  art,  and  showed  us 
two  entirely  different  aspects  of  music — that  of  a 
great  popular  art,  and  that  of  music  made  free. 

We  are  all  enslaved  by  the  musical  tradition  of 
the  past.  For  generations  we  have  been  so  accus- 
tomed to  carry  this  yoke  that  we  scarcely  notice  it. 
And  in  consequence  of  Germany's  monopoly  of 
music  since  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
musical  traditions — which  had  been  chiefly  Italian 
in  the  two  preceding  centuries — now  became  almost 
entirely  German.  We  think  in  German  forms  :  the 
plan  of  phrastes,  their  development,  their  balance, 
and  all  the  rhetoric  of  music  and  the  grammar  of 
composition  comes  to  us  from  foreign  thought, 
slowly    elaborated    by    German    masters.      That 


44  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

domination  has  never  been  more  complete  or  more 
heavy  since  Wagner's  victory.  Then  reigned  over 
the  world  this  great  German  period — a  scaly  monster 
with  a  thousand  arms,  whose  grasp  was  so  exten- 
sive that  it  included  pages,  scenes,  acts,  and  whole 
dramas  in  its  embrace.  We  cannot  say  that  French 
writers  have  ever  tried  to  write  in  the  style  of 
Goethe  or  Schiller ;  but  French  composers  have 
tried  and  are  still  trying  to  write  music  after  the 
manner  of  German  musicians. 

Why  be  astonished  at  it  ?  Let  us  face  the 
matter  plainly.  In  music  we  have  not,  so  to  speak, 
any  masters  of  French  style.  All  our  greatest 
composers  are  foreigners.  The  founder  of  the  first 
school  of  French  opera,  Lulli,  was  Florentine  ;  the 
founder  of  the  second  school,  Gluck,  w^as  German  ; 
the  two  founders  of  the  third  school  were  Rossini, 
an  Italian,  and  Meyerbeer,  a  German  ;  the  creators 
of  opera-comique  were  Duni,  an  Italian,  and  Gretry, 
a  Belgian  ;  Franck,  who  revolutionised  our  modern 
school  of  opera,  was  also  Belgian.  These  men 
brought  with  them  a  style  peculiar  to  their  race  ; 
or  else  they  tried  to  found,  as  Gluck  did,  an  "  inter- 
national "  style,  ^  by  which  they  effaced  the  more 
individual  characteristics  of  the  French  spirit. 
The  most  French  of  all  these  styles  is  the  opera- 
comique^  the  work  of  two  foreigners,  but  owing 
much  more  to  the  opera-houffe  than  is  generally 
admitted,  and,  in  any  case,  representing  France  very 
insufficiently.    Some  more  rational  minds  have  tried 

1  Gluck  himself  said  this  in  a  letter  to  the  Mercitre  de  France, 
February,  1773. 


BERLIOZ  45 

to  rid  themselves  of  this  Italian  and  German 
influence,  but  have  mostly  arrived  at  creating  an 
intermediate  Germano-Italian  style,  of  which  the 
operas  of  Auber  and  Ambroise  Thomas  are  a  type. 

Before  Berlioz's  time  there  was  really  only  one 
master  of  the  first  rank  who  made  a  great  effort  to 
liberate  French  music :  it  was  Rameau ;  and, 
despite  his  genius,  he  was  conquered  by  Itahan  art.^ 

By  force  of  circumstance,  therefore,  French 
music  found  itself  moulded  in  foreign  musical  forms. 
And  in  the  same  way  that  Germany  in  the  eighteenth 
century  tried  to  imitate  French  architecture  and 
literature,  so  France  in  the  nineteenth  century  ac- 
quired the  habit  of  speaking  German  in  music.  As 
most  men  speak  more  than  they  think,  even  thought 
itself  became  Germanised ;  and  it  was  difficult  then 
to  discover,  through  this  traditional  insincerity,  the 
true  and  spontaneous  form  of  French  musical 
thought. 

But  Berlioz's  genius  found  it  by  instinct.  From 
the  first  he  strove  to  free  French  music  from  the 
oppression  of  the  foreign  tradition  that  was  suffo- 
cating it.  2 

1  I  am  not  speaking  of  the  Franco-Flemish  masters  at  the 
end  of  the  sixteenth  century  :  of  Jannequin,  Costeley,  Claude 
le  Jeune,  or  Mauduit,  recently  discovered  by  M.  Henry  Expert, 
who  are  possessed  of  so  original  a  flavour,  and  have  yet  re- 
mained almost  entirely  unknown  from  their  own  time  to  ours. 
Rehgious  wars  bruised  France's  musical  traditions  and  defiled 
some  of  the  grandeur  of  her  art. 

2  It  is  amusing  to  find  Wagner  comparing  Berlioz  with  Auber, 
as  the  type  of  a  true  French  musician — Auber  and  his  mixed 
Itahan  and  German  opera.  That  shows  how  Wagner,  like  most 
Germans,  was  incapable  of  grasping  the  real  originality  of 
French  music,  and  how  he  saw  only  its  externals.  The  best 
way  to  find  out  the  musical  characteristics  of  a  nation  is  to  study 


46  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

He  was  fitted  in  every  way  for  the  part,  even  by 
his  deficiencies  and  his  ignorance.  His  classical 
education  in  music  was  incomplete.  M.  Saint- 
Saens  tells  us  that  "  the  past  did  not  exist  for  him ; 
he  did  not  understand  the  old  composers,  as  his 
knowledge  of  them  was  limited  to  what  he  had  read 
about  them."  He  did  not  know  Bach.  Happy 
ignorance  !  He  was  able  to  write  oratorios  like 
L'Enfance  du  Christ  without  being  worried  by  mem- 
ories and  traditions  of  the  German  masters  of 
oratorio.  There  are  men  like  Brahms  who  have 
been,  nearly  all  their  life,  but  reflections  of  the  past. 
Berlioz  never  sought  to  be  anything  but  himself. 
It  was  thus  that  he  created  that  masterpiece, 
La  Fiiite  en  Egypte,  which  sprang  from  his  keen 
sympathy  with  the  people. 

He  had  one  of  the  most  untrammelled  spirits 
that  ever  breathed.  Liberty  was  for  him  a  desperate 
necessity.  "  Liberty  of  heart,  of  mind,  of  soul — of 
everything.  .  .  .  Real  liberty,  absolute  and  im- 
mense !  "1  And  this  passionate  love  of  liberty, 
which  was  his  misfortune  in  life,  since  it  deprived 
him  of  the  comfort  of  any  faith,  refused  him  any 
refuge  for  his  thoughts,  robbed  him  of  peace,  and 
even  of  the  soft  pillow  of  scepticism — this  "  real 
liberty  "  formed  the  unique  originality  and  grandeur 
of  his  musical  conceptions. 

its  folk-songs.  If  only  someone  would  devote  himself  to  the 
study  of  French  folk-song  (and  there  is  no  lack  of  material), 
people  would  realise  perhaps  how  much  it  differs  from  German 
folk-song,  and  how  the  temperament  of  the  French  race  shows 
itself  there  as  being  sweeter  and  freer,  more  vigorous  and  more 
expressive. 

^  M^ynoires,  I,  2^1. 


BERLIOZ  47 

"  Music/'  wrote  Berlioz  to  C.  Lobe,  in  1852, 
"  is  the  most  poetic,  the  most  powerful,  the  most 
living  of  all  arts.  She  ought  to  be  the  freest,  but 
she  is  not  yet.  .  .  .  Modern  music  is  like  the 
classic  Andromeda,  naked  and  divinely  beautiful. 
She  is  chained  to  a  rock  on  the  shores  of  a  vast 
sea,  and  awaits  the  victorious  Perseus  who  shall 
loose  her  bonds  and  break  in  pieces  the  chimera 
called  Routine." 

The  business  was  to  free  music  from  its  limited 
rhythms  and  from  the  traditional  forms  and  rules 
that  enclosed  it ;  ^  and,  above  all,  it  needed  to  be 
free  from  the  domination  of  speech,  and  to  be 
released  from  its  humiliating  bondage  to  poetry. 
Berlioz  wrote  to  the  Princess  of  Wittgenstein,  in 
1856  :- 

"  I  am  for  free  music.  Yes,  I  want  music  to 
be  proudly  free,  to  be  victorious,  to  be  supreme.  I 
want  her  to  take  all  she  can,  so  that  there  may 
be  no  more  Alps  or  Pyrenees  for  her.     But  she 

^  "  Music  to-day,  in  the  vigour  of  her  youth,  is  emancipated 
and  free  and  can  do  what  she  pleases.  Many  old  rules  have  no 
longer  any  vogue  ;  they  were  made  by  unreflecting  minds,  or 
by  lovers  of  routine  for  other  lovers  of  routine.  New  needs  of 
the  mind,  of  the  heart,  and  of  the  sense  of  hearing,  make  neces- 
sary new  endeavours  and,  in  some  cases,  the  breaking  of  ancient 
laws.  Many  forms  have  become  too  hackneyed  to  be  still 
adopted.  The  same  thing  may  be  entirely  good  or  entirely  bad, 
according  to  the  use  one  makes  of  it,  or  the  reasons  one  has  for 
making  use  of  it.  Sound  and  sonority  are  secondary  to  thought, 
and  thought  is  secondary  to  feeling  and  passion."  (These 
opinions  were  given  with  reference  to  Wagner's  concerts  in  Paris, 
in  i860,  and  are  taken  from  A  travers  chants,  p.  312.) 

Compare  Beethoven's  words  :  "  There  is  no  rule  that  one  may 
not  break  for  the  advancement  of  beauty." 


48  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

must  achieve  her  victories  by  fighting  in  person, 
and  not  rely  upon  her  Ueutenants.  I  should  like 
her  to  have,  if  possible,  good  verse  drawn  up  in 
order  of  battle  ;  but,  like  Napoleon,  she  must  face 
the  fire  herself,  and,  like  Alexander,  march  in  the 
front  ranks  of  the  phalanx.  She  is  so  powerful 
that  in  some  cases  she  would  conquer  unaided ; 
for  she  has  the  right  to  say  with  Medea  :  '  I, 
myself,  am  enough.'  " 

Berlioz  protested  vigorously  against  Gluck's 
impious  theory^  and  Wagner's  "  crime  "  in  making 
music  the  slave  of  speech.  Music  is  the  highest 
poetry  and  knows  no  master.  ^  It  was  for  Berlioz, 
therefore,  continually  to  increase  the  power  oi 
expression  in  pure  music.  And  while  Wagner, 
who  was  more  moderate  and  a  closer  follower  of 
tradition,  sought  to  establish  a  compromise  (perhaps 
an  impossible  one)  between  m.usic  and  speech,  and 
to  create  the  new  lyric  drama,  Berlioz,  who  was 

^  Is  it  necessary  to  recall  the  ipitre  dedicatoire  of  Alcesie 
in  1769,  and  Gluck's  declaration  that  he  "  sought  to  bring  music 
to  its  true  function — that  of  helping  poetry  to  strengthen  the 
expression  of  the  emotions  and  the  interest  of  a  situation  .  .  . 
and  to  make  it  what  fine  colouring  and  the  happy  arrangement 
of  light  and  shade  are  to  a  skilful  drawing"  ? 

*  This  revolutionary  theory  was  already  Mozart's  :  "  Music 
should  reign  supreme  and  make  one  forget  everything  else.  .  .  . 
In  an  opera  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  Poetry  should  be 
Music's  obedient  daughter"  (Letter  to  his  father,  13  October, 
1 781).  Despairing  probably  at  being  unable  to  obtain  this 
obedience,  IMozart  thought  seriously  of  breaking  up  the  form  of 
opera,  and  of  putting  in  its  place,  in  1778,  a  sort  of  melodrama 
(of  which  Rousseau  had  given  an  example  in  1773),  which  he 
called  "  duodrama,"  where  music  and  poetry  were  loosely 
associated,  yet  not  dependent  on  each  other,  but  went  side  by 
side  on  two  parallel  roads  (Letter  of  12  November,  1778), 


BERLIOZ  49 

more  revolutionary,  achieved  the  dramatic  sym- 
phony, of  which  the  unequalled  model  to-day  is 
still  Romeo  et  Juliette. 

The  dramatic  symphony  naturally  fell  foul  of  all 
formal  theories.  Two  arguments  were  set  up  against 
it :  one  derived  from  Bayreuth,  and  by  now  an 
act  of  faith  ;  the  other,  current  opinion,  upheld  by 
the  crowd  that  speaks  of  music  without  under- 
standing it. 

The  first  argument,  maintained  by  Wagner,  is 
that  music  cannot  really  express  action  without 
the  help  of  speech  and  gesture.  It  is  in  the  name 
of  this  opinion  that  so  many  people  condemn  a 
priori  Berlioz's  Romeo.  They  think  it  childish  to 
try  and  translate  action  into  music.  I  suppose  they 
think  it  less  childish  to  illustrate  an  action  by  music. 
Do  they  think  that  gesture  associates  itself  very  happily 
with  music  ?  If  only  they  would  try  to  root  up  this 
great  fiction,  which  has  bothered  us  for  the  last 
three  centuries  ;  if  only  they  would  open  their 
eyes  and  see — ^^vhat  great  men  like  Rousseau  and 
Tolstoy  saw  so  clearly — the  silliness  of  opera  ;  if 
only  they  w^ould  see  the  anomalies  of  the  Bayreuth 
show.  In  the  second  act  of  Tristan  there  is  a  cele- 
brated passage,  where  Ysolde,  burning  with  desire, 
is  waiting  for  Tristan  ;  she  sees  him  come  at  last, 
and  from  afar  she  waves  her  scarf  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  a  phrase  repeated  several  times  by 
the  orchestra.  I  cannot  express  the  effect  produced 
on  me  by  that  imitation  (for  it  is  nothing  else)  of  a 
series  of  sounds  by  a  series  of  gestures  ;  I  can 
never  see  it  without  indignation  or  without  laughing. 


50  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

The  curious  thing  is  that  when  one  hears  this 
passage  at  a  concert,  one  sees  the  gesture.  At  the 
theatre  either  one  does  not  "  see  "  it,  or  it  appears 
childish.  The  natural  action  becomes  stiff  when 
clad  in  musical  armour,  and  the  absurdity  of  trying 
to  make  the  two  agree  is  forced  upon  one.  In  the 
music  of  Rheingold  one  pictures  the  stature  and  gait 
of  the  giants,  and  one  sees  the  lightning  gleam  and 
the  rainbow  reflected  on  the  clouds.  In  the  theatre 
it  is  like  a  game  of  marionettes  ;  and  one  feels  the 
impassable  gulf  between  music  and  gesture.  Music 
is  a  world  apart.  When  music  wishes  to  depict  the 
drama,  it  is  not  real  action  which  is  reflected  in  it, 
it  is  the  ideal  action  transfigured  by  the  spirit,  and 
perceptible  only  to  the  inner  vision.  The  worst 
foolishness  is  to  present  two  visions — one  for  the 
eyes  and  one  for  the  spirit.  Nearly  always  they  kill 
each  other. 

The  other  argument  urged  against  the  symphony 
with  a  programme  is  the  pretended  classical  argu- 
ment (it  is  not  really  classical  at  all).  "  Music," 
they  say,  "  is  not  meant  to  express  definite  subjects  ; 
it  is  only  fitted  for  vague  ideas.  The  more  indefinite 
it  is,  the  greater  its  power,  and  the  more  it  suggests." 
I  ask.  What  is  an  indefinite  art  ?  What  is  a  vague 
art  ?  Do  not  the  two  words  contradict  each  other  ? 
Can  this  strange  combination  exist  at  all  ?  Can  an 
artist  write  anything  that  he  does  not  clearly  con- 
ceive ?  Do  people  think  he  composes  at  random  as 
his  genius  whispers  to  him  ?  One  must  at  least 
say  this :  A  symphony  of  Beethoven's  is  a  "  definite" 
work  down  to  its  innermost  folds  ;   and  Beethoven 


BERLIOZ  51 

had,  if  not  an  exact  knowledge,  at  least  a  clear 
intuition  of  what  he  was  about.  His  last  quartets 
are  descriptive  symphonies  of  his  soul,  and  very 
differently  carried  out  from  Berlioz's  symphonies. 
Wagner  was  able  to  analyse  one  of  the  former 
under  the  name  of  "  A  Day  with  Beethoven." 
Beethoven  was  always  trying  to  translate  into 
music  the  depths  of  his  heart,  the  subtleties  of  his 
spirit,  which  are  not  to  be  explained  clearly  by 
words,  but  which  are  as  definite  as  words — in  fact, 
more  definite  ;  for  a  word,  being  an  abstract  thing, 
sums  up  many  experiences  and  comprehends  many 
different  meanings.  Music  is  a  hundred  times  more 
expressive  and  exact  than  speech  ;  and  it  is  not 
only  her  right  to  express  particular  emotions  and 
subjects,  it  is  her  duty.  If  that  duty  is  not  fulfilled, 
the  result  is  not  music — it  is  nothing  at  all. 

Berlioz  is  thus  the  true  inheritor  of  Beethoven's 
thought.  The  difference  between  a  work  like 
Romeo  and  one  of  Beethoven's  symphonies  is  that 
the  former,  it  would  seem,  endeavours  to  express 
objective  emotions  and  subjects  in  music.  I  do 
not  see  why  music  should  not  follow  poetry  in 
getting  away  from  introspection  and  trying  to 
paint  the  drama  of  the  universe.  Shakespeare  is  as 
good  as  Dante.  Besides,  one  may  add,  it  is  always 
Berlioz  himself  that  is  discovered  in  his  music  :  it 
is  his  soul  starving  for  love  and  mocked  at  by 
shadows  which  is  revealed  through  all  the  scenes 
of  RomSo. 

I  will  not  prolong  a  discussion  where  so  many 
things  must  be  left  unsaid.     But  I  would  suggest 


52  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

that,  once  and  for  all,  we  get  rid  of  these  absurd 
endeavours  to  fence  in  art.  Do  not  let  us  say: 
Music  can  .  .  .  Music  cannot  express  such-and- 
such  a  thing.  Let  us  say  rather.  If  genius  pleases, 
everything  is  possible  ;  and  if  music  so  wishes,  she 
may  be  painting  and  poetry  to-morrow.  Berlioz 
has  proved  it  well  in  his  Romeo. 

This  Romeo  is  an  extraordinary  work :  "a 
wonderful  isle,  where  a  temple  of  pure  art  is  set  up." 
For  my  part,  not  only  do  I  consider  it  equal  to  the 
most  powerful  of  Wagner's  creations,  but  I  believe 
it  to  be  richer  in  its  teaching  and  in  its  resources 
for  art — resources  and  teaching  which  contemporary 
French  art  has  not  yet  fully  turned  to  account. 
One  knows  that  for  several  years  the  young  French 
school  has  been  making  efforts  to  deliver  our  music 
from  German  models,  to  create  a  language  of 
recitative  that  shall  belong  to  France  and  that  the 
leitmotif  will  not  overwhelm  ;  a  more  exact  and 
less  heavy  language,  which  in  expressing  the  freedom 
of  modern  thought  will  not  have  to  seek  the  help 
of  the  classical  or  Wagnerian  forms.  Not  long  ago, 
the  Schola  Cantorum  published  a  manifesto  that 
proclaimed  "  the  liberty  of  musical  declamation  .  .  . 
free  speech  in  free  music  .  .  .  the  triumph  of 
natural  music  with  the  free  movement  of  speech  and 
the  plastic  rhythm  of  the  ancient  dance  " — thus 
declaring  war  on  the  metrical  art  of  the  last  three 
centuries.^ 

Well,  here  is  that  music ;  you  will  nowhere 
find  a  more  perfect  model.     It  is  true  that  many 

1  Tribune  de  Saint  Gervais,  November,  1903. 


BERLIOZ  53 

who  profess  the  principles  of  this  music  repudiate 
the  model,  and  do  not  hide  their  disdain  for  Berlioz. 
That  makes  me  doubt  a  little,  I  admit,  the  results 
of  their  efforts.  If  they  do  not  feel  the  wonderful 
freedom  of  BerHoz's  music,  and  do  not  see  that  it  was 
the  delicate  veil  of  a  very  living  spirit,  then  I  think 
there  will  be  more  of  archaism  than  real  life  in 
their  pretensions  to  "  free  music."  Study,  not 
only  the  most  celebrated  pages  of  his  work,  such  as 
the  Scdne  d'amour  (the  one  of  all  his  compositions 
that  BerHoz  himself  liked  best),i  La  Tristesse  de 
Romeo,  or  La  Fete  des  Capidet  (where  a  spirit  like 
Wagner's  own  unlooses  and  subdues  again  tempests 
of  passion  and  joy),  but  take  less  well-known  pages, 
such  as  the  Scherzetto  chante  de  la  reine  Mah,  or  the 
Reveil  de  Juliette,  and  the  music  describing  the 
death  of  the  two  lovers. ^  In  the  one  what  light 
grace  there  is,  in  the  other  what  vibrating  passion, 
and  in  both  of  them  what  freedom  and  apt  expres- 
sion of  ideas.  The  language  is  magnificent,  of 
wonderful  clearness  and  simplicity  ;  not  a  word  too 
much,  and  not  a  word  that  does  not  reveal  an 
unerring  pen.  In  nearly  all  the  big  works  of  Berlioz 
before  1845  (that  is  up  to  the  Damnation)  you  will 
find  this  nervous  precision  and  sweeping  liberty. 

Then  there  is  the  freedom  of  his  rhythms.  Schu- 
mann, who  was  nearest  to  Berlioz  of  all  musicians 

*  Memoires,  II,  365. 

2  "  This  composition  contains  a  dose  of  sublimity  much  too 
strong  for  the  ordinary  public  ;  and  Berlioz,  with  the  splendid 
insolence  of  genius,  advises  the  conductor,  in  a  note,  to  turn 
the  page  and  pass  it  over"  (Georges  de  Massougnes,  Berlioz). 
This  fine  study  by  Georges  de  Massougnes  appeared  in  1870, 
and  is  very  much  in  advance  of  its  time. 


54  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

of  that  time,  and,  therefore,  best  able  to  understand 
him,  had  been  struck  by  this  since  the  composition 
of  the  Symphonic  fantasiique.'^    He  wrote  : — 

"  The  present  age  has  certainly  not  produced  a 
work  in  which  similar  times  and  rhythms  combined 
with  dissimilar  times  and  rhythms  have  been 
more  freely  used.  The  second  part  of  a  phrase 
rarely  corresponds  with  the  first,  the  reply  to 
the  question.  This  anomaly  is  characteristic  of 
Berlioz,  and  is  natural  to  his  southern  tempera- 
ment." 

Far  from  objecting  to  this,  Schumann  sees  in  it 
something  necessary  to  musical  evolution. 

"  Apparently  music  is  showing  a  tendency  to 
go  back  to  its  beginnings,  to  the  time  when  the 
laws  of  rhythm  did  not  yet  trouble  her  ;  it  seems 
that  she  wishes  to  free  herself,  to  regain  an 
utterance  that  is  unconstrained,  and  raise  her- 
self to  the  dignity  of  a  sort  of  poetic  language." 

And  Schumann  quotes  these  words  of  Ernest 
Wagner  :  "He  who  shakes  off  the  tyranny  of  time 
and  delivers  us  from  it  will,  as  far  as  one  can  see, 
give  back  freedom  to  music." ^ 

1  "  Oh,  how  I  love,  honour,  and  reverence  Schumann  for 
having  written  this  article  alone  "  (Hugo  Wolf,  1884). 

2  Neiie  Zeitschrift  fiir  Musik.  See  Hector  Berlioz  und  Robert 
Schumann.  Berlioz  was  constantly  fighting  for  this  freedom  of 
rhythm — for  "  those  harmonies  of  rhythm,"  as  he  said.  He 
wished  to  form  a  Rhythm  class  at  the  Conservatoire  {Memoires, 
II,  241),  but  such  a  thing  was  not  understood  in  France. 
Without  being  as  backward  as  Italy  on  this  point,  France  is 
still  resisting  the  emancipation  of  rhythm  {Memoires,  II,  196). 
But  during  the  last  ten  years  great  progress  in  music  has  been 
made  in  France. 


BERLI02  55 

Remark  also  Berlioz's  freedom  of  melody.  His 
musical  phrases  pulse  and  flow  like  life  itself. 
"Some  phrases  taken  separately,"  says  Schumann, 
"  have  such  an  intensity  that  they  will  not  bear 
harmonising — as  in  many  ancient  folk-songs — and 
often  even  an  accompaniment  spoils  their  fulness,"^ 
These  melodies  so  correspond  with  the  emotions, 
that  they  reproduce  the  least  thrills  of  body  and 
mind  by  their  vigorous  workings-up  and  delicate 
reliefs,  by  splendid  barbarities  of  modulation  and 
strong  and  glowing  colour,  by  gentle  gradations 
of  light  and  shade  or  imperceptible  ripples  of 
thought,  which  flow  over  the  body  like  a  steady  tide. 
It  is  an  art  of  peculiar  sensitiveness,  more  delicately 
expressive  than  that  of  Wagner ;  not  satisfying 
itself  with  the  modern  tonality,  but  going  back  to 
old  modes — a  r-ebel,  as  M.  Saint-Saens  remarks, 
to  the  polyphony  which  had  governed  music  since 
Bach's  day,  and  which  is  perhaps,  after  all,  "  a 
heresy  destined  to  disappear." ^ 

How  much  finer,  to  my  idea,  are  Berlioz's  recita- 
tives, with  their  long  and  winding  rhythms,  ^  than 

^  Ibid.  "  A  rare  peculiarity,"  adds  Schumann,  "  which 
distinguishes  nearly  all  his  melodies."  Schumann  understands 
why  Berlioz  often  gives  as  an  accompaniment  to  his  melodies  a 
simple  bass,  or  chords  of  the  augmented  and  diminished  fifth — 
ignoring  the  intermediate  parts. 

2  "  What  will  then  remain  of  actual  art  ?  Perhaps  Berlioz 
will  be  its  sole  representative.  Not  having  studied  the  piano- 
forte, he  had  an  instinctive  aversion  to  counterpoint.  He  is  in 
this  respect  the  opposite  of  Wagner,  who  was  the  embodiment 
of  counterpoint,  and  drew  the  utmost  he  could  from  its  laws  " 
(Saint-Saens). 

'  Jacques  Passy  notes  that  wdth  Beriioz  the  most  frequent 
phrases  consist  of  twelve,  sixteen,  eighteen,  or  twenty  bars. 
With  Wagner,  phrases  of  eight  bars  are  rare,  those  of  four  more 


56  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

Wagner's  declamations,  which — apart  from  the 
dimax  of  a  subject,  where  the  air  breaks  into  bold 
and  vigorous  phrases,  whose  influence  elsewhere  is 
often  weak — limit  themselves  to  the  quasi-notation 
of  spoken  inflections,  and  jar  noisily  against  the 
fine  harmonies  of  the  orchestra.  Berlioz's  orchestra- 
tion, too,  is  of  a  more  delicate  temper,  and  has  a 
freer  life  than  Wagner's,  flowing  in  an  impetuous 
stream,  and  sweeping  away  everything  in  its 
course  ;  it  is  also  less  united  and  solid,  but  more 
flexible  ;  its  nature  is  undulating  and  varied,  and 
the  thousand  imperceptible  impulses  of  the  spirit 
and  of  action  are  reflected  there.  It  is  a  marvel  of 
spontaneity  and  caprice. 

In  spite  of  appearances,  Wagner  is  a  classicist 
compared  with  Berlioz  ;  he  carried  on  and  per- 
fected the  work  of  the  German  classicists  ;  he  made 
no  innovations  ;  he  is  the  pinnacle  and  the  close 
of  one  evolution  of  art.  Berlioz  began  a  new  art ; 
and  one  finds  in  it  all  the  daring  and  gracious  ardour 
of  youth.  The  iron  laws  that  bound  the  art  of 
Wagner  are  not  to  be  found  in  Berlioz's  early  works, 
which  give  one  the  illusion  of  perfect  freedom.^ 

common,  those  of  two  still  more  so,  while  those  of  one  bar  are 
most  frequent  of  all  {Berlioz  et  Wagner,  article  published  in 
Le  Correspondant,  lo  June,  1888). 

^  One  must  make  mention  here  of  the  poorness  and  awkward- 
ness of  Berlioz's  harmony — which  is  incontestable — since  some 
critics  and  composers  have  been  able  to  see  (Am  I  saying  some- 
thing ridiculous  ? — Wagner  would  say  it  for  me)  nothing  but 
"  faults  of  orthography  "  in  his  genius.  To  these  terrible  gram- 
marians— who,  two  hundred  years  ago,  criticised  Moliere  on 
account  of  his  "  jargon  " — I  shall  reply  by  quoting  Schumann. 

"  Berlioz's   harmonies,    in    spite   of   the   diversity   of   their 
effect,  obtained  from  very  scanty  material,  are  distinguished 


BERLIOZ  57 

As  soon  as  the  profound  originality  of  Beriioz*s 
music  has  been  grasped,  one  understands  why  it 
encountered,  and  still  encounters,  so  much  secret 
hostility.  How  many  accomplished  musicians  of 
distinction  and  learning,  who  pay  honour  to  artistic 
tradition,  are  incapable  of  understanding  BerHoz 
because  they  cannot  bear  the  air  of  liberty  breathed 
by  his  music.  They  are  so  used  to  thinking  in 
German,  that  Berlioz's  speech  upsets  and  shocks 
them.  I  can  well  beheve  it.  It  is  the  first  time  a 
French  musician  has  dared  to  think  in  French  ;  and 
that  is  the  reason  why  I  warned  you  of  the  danger 
of  accepting  too  meekly  German  ideas  about  Berlioz. 
Men  like  Weingartner,  Richard  Strauss,  and  Mottl 
— thoroughbred  musicians — are,  without  doubt, 
able  to  appreciate  Berlioz's  genius  better  and  more 
quickly  than  we  French  musicians.  But  I  rather 
mistrust  the  kind  of  appreciation  they  feel  for  a 
spirit  so  opposed  to  their  own.  It  is  for  France  and 
French  people  to  learn  to  read  his  thoughts  ;   they 

by  a  sort  of  simplicity,  and  even  by  a  solidity  and  concise- 
ness, which  one  only  meets  with  in  Beethoven.  .  .  .  One 
may  find  here  and  there  harmonies  that  are  commonplace 
and  trivial,  and  others  that  are  incorrect — at  least  according 
to  the  old  rules.  In  some  places  his  harmonies  have  a  fine 
effect,  and  in  others  their  result  is  vague  and  indeterminate, 
or  it  sounds  badly,  or  is  too  elaborate  and  far-fetched.  Yet 
with  Berlioz  all  this  somehow  takes  on  a  certain  distinction. 
If  one  attempted  to  correct  it,  or  even  slightly  to  modify  it 
— for  a  skilled  musician  it  would  be  child's  play — the  music 
would  become  dull  "  (Article  on  the  Symphonie  faniastique). 

But  let  us  leave  that  "  grammatical  discussion  "  as  well  as 
what  Wagner  wrote  on  "  the  childish  question  as  to  whether  it 
is  permitted  or  not  to  introduce  '  neologisms  '  in  matters  of 
harmony  and  melody  "  (Wagner  to  Berlioz,  22  February,  i860). 
As  Schumann  has  said,  "  Look  out  for  fifths,  and  then  leave  us 
in  peace." 


58  MUSICIANS  OF  TO-DAY 

are  intimately  theirs,  and  one  day  will  give  them 
their  salvation. 


Berlioz's  other  great  originality  lay  in  his  talent 
for  music  that  was  suited  to  the  spirit  of  the  common 
people,  recently  raised  to  sovereignty,  and  the 
young  democracy.  In  spite  of  his  aristocratic  dis- 
dain, his  soul  was  with  the  masses.  M.  Hippeau 
applies  to  him  Taine's  definition  of  a  romantic 
artist :  "  the  plebeian  of  a  new  race,  richly  gifted, 
and  filled  with  aspirations,  who,  having  attained 
for  the  first  time  the  world's  heights,  noisily  displays 
the  ferment  of  his  mind  and  heart."  Berlioz  grew 
up  in  the  midst  of  revolutions  and  stories  of  Imperial 
achievement.  He  wrote  his  cantata  for  the  Prix  de 
Rome  in  July,  1830,  "  to  the  hard,  dull  noise  of 
stray  bullets,  which  whizzed  above  the  roofs,  and 
came  to  flatten  themselves  against  the  wall  near 
his  window."^  When  he  had  finished  this  cantata, 
he  went,  "  pistol  in  hand,  to  play  the  blackguard 
in  Paris  with  the  sainte  canaille."  He  sang  the 
Marseillaise,  and  made  "  all  who  had  a  voice  and 
heart  and  blood  in  their  veins  "^  sing  it  too.  On 
his  journey  to  Italy  he  travelled  from  Marseilles 
to  Livoume  with  Mazzinian  conspirators,  who  were 
going  to  take  part  in  the  insurrection  of  Modena 
and  Bologna.  Whether  he  was  conscious  of  it  or 
not,    he    was    the    musician    of    revolutions ;     his 

^  Memoires,  I,  155. 

2  These  words  are  taken  from  Berlioz's  directions  on  the 
score  of  his  arrangement  of  the  Marseillaise  for  full  orchestra 
and  double  choir. 


BERLIOZ  59 

syrapathies  were  with  the  people.  Not  only  did 
he  fiil  his  scenes  in  the  theatre  with  swarming  and 
riotous  crowds,  like  those  of  the  Roman  Carnival  in 
the  second  act  of  Benvenuto  (anticipating  by  thirty 
years  the  crowds  of  Die  Meister singer),  but  he 
created  a  music  of  the  masses  and  a  colossal  style. 
His  model  here  was  Beethoven  ;  Beethoven  of 
the  Eroica,  of  the  C  minor,  of  the  A,  and,  above  all, 
of  the  Ninth  Symphony.  He  was  Beethoven's 
follower  in  this  as  well  as  other  things,  and  the 
apostle  who  carried  on  his  work.^  And  with  his 
understanding  of  material  effects  and  sonorous 
matter,  he  built  edifices,  as  he  says,  that  were 
"  Babylonian  and  Ninevitish,''^  "  music  after  Michel- 
angelo,"^ "on  an  immense  scale."*  It  was  the 
Symphonie  funebre  et  triomphale  for  two  orchestras 

^  "  From  Beethoven,"  says  Berlioz,  "  dates  the  advent  in 
art  of  colossal  forms"  {Memoires,  II,  112).  But  Berlioz 
forgot  one  of  Beethoven's  models — Handel.  One  must  also 
take  into  account  the  musicians  of  the  French  revolution  : 
Mehul,  Gossec,  Cherubini,  and  Lesueur,  whose  works,  though 
they  may  not  equal  their  intentions,  are  not  without  grandeur, 
and  often  disclose  the  intuition  of  a  new  and  noble  and  popular 
art. 

-  Letter  to  Morel,  1855.  Berlioz  thus  describes  the  Tibi 
omnes  and  the  Judex  of  his  Te  Deum.  Compare  Heine's  judg- 
ment :  "  Berlioz's  music  makes  me  think  of  gigantic  kinds  of 
extinct  animals,  of  fabulous  empires.  .  .  .  Babylon,  the  hanging 
gardens  of  Semiramis,  the  wonders  of  Nineveh,  the  daring 
buildings  of  Mizraim." 

'  Alemoires,  I,  17. 

*  Letter  to  an  unknown  person,  written  probably  about  1855, 
in  the  collection  of  Siegfried  Ochs,  and  published  in  the  Geschichte 
der  framosischen  Miisik  of  Alfred  Bruneau,  1904.  That  letter 
contains  a  rather  curious  analytical  catalogue  of  Berlioz's  works, 
drawn  up  by  himself.  He  notes  there  his  predilection  for  com- 
positions of  a  "  colossal  nature,"  such  as  the  Requiem,  the 
Symphonie  funebre  et  triomphale,  and  the  Te  Deum,  or  those  of 
"  an  immense  style,"  such  as  the  Imperiale. 


6o  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

and  a  choir,  and  the  Te  Detim  for  orchestra,  organ, 
and  three  choirs,  which  Berhoz  loved  (whose  finale 
Judex  crederis  seemed  to  him  the  most  effective 
thing  he  had  ever  written^),  as  well  as  the  Imperiale, 
for  two  orchestras  and  two  choirs,  and  the  famous 
Requiem,  with  its  "four  orchestras  of  brass  instru- 
ments, placed  round  the  main  orchestra  and  the 
mass  of  voices,  but  separated  and  answering  one 
another  at  a  distance."  Like  the  Requiem,  these 
compositions  are  often  crude  in  style  and  of  rather 
commonplace  sentiment,  but  their  grandeur  is 
over^vhelming.  This  is  not  due  only  to  the  hugeness 
of  the  means  employed,  but  also  to  "  the  breadth  of 
the  style  and  to  the  formidable  slowness  of  some 
of  the  progressions — whose  final  aim  one  cannot 
guess — which  gives  these  compositions  a  strangely 
gigantic  character." ^  Berlioz  has  left  in  these 
compositions  striking  examples  of  the  beauty  that 
may  reveal  itself  in  a  crude  mass  of  music.  Like 
the  towering  Alps,  they  move  one  by  their  very 
immensity.  A  German  critic  says :  "  In  these 
Cyclopean  works  the  composer  lets  the  elemental 
and  brute  forces  of  sound  and  pure  rhythm  have 
their  fling. "^  It  is  scarcely  music,  it  is  the  force  of 
Nature  herself.  Berlioz  himself  calls  his  Requiem 
"  a  musical  cataclysm."* 

These  hurricanes  are  let  loose  in  order  to  speak  to 
the  people,   to  stir  and  rouse  the  dull  ocean  of 

^  Memoires,  II,  364.     See  also  the  letter  quoted  above. 
2  Memoires,  II,  363.      See  also  II,  163,  and  the  description  of 
the  great  festival  of  1844,  with  its  1,022  performers. 

^  Hermann  Kretzschmar,  Fiihrer  durch  den  Konzertsaal. 
*  Memoires,  I,  312. 


BERLIOZ  6l 

humanity.     The  Requiem  is  a  Last  Judgment,  not 

meant,  hke  that  of  the  Sixtine  Chapel  (which  Berhoz 

did  not  care  for  at  all)  for  great  aristocracies,  but 

for  a  crowd,  a  surging,  excited,  and  rather  savage 

crow^d.    The  Marche  de  Rakoczy  is  less  an  Hungarian 

march  than  the  music  for  a  revolutionary  fight ;   it 

sounds  the  charge  ;    and  Berlioz  tells  us  it  might 

bear  Virgil's  verses  for  a  motto  : — 

"...  Furor  Iraque  mentes 
Praecipltantj  pulchrumque  mori  succurrit  in  armis."^ 

When  Wagner  heard  the  Symphonie  funebre  et 
triomphale  he  was  forced  to  admit  Berlioz's  "  skill 
in  writing  compositions  that  were  popular  in  the 
best  sense  of  the  word." 

"  In  listening  to  that  symphony  I  had  a  lively 
impression  that  any  little  street  boy  in  a  blue 
blouse  and  red  bonnet  would  understand  it 
perfectly.  I  have  no  hesitation  in  giving  prece- 
dence to  that  work  over  Berlioz's  other  works  ; 
it  is  big  and  noble  from  the  first  note  to  the  last ; 
a  fine  and  eager  patriotism  rises  from  its  first 

^  Letter  to  some  young  Hungarians,  14  February,  1861.  See 
the  Memoires,  II,  212,  for  the  incredible  emotion  which  the 
Marche  de  Rakoczy  roused  in  the  audience  at  Budapest,  and, 
above  all,  for  the  astonishing  scene  at  the  end  : — 

"  I  saw  a  man  enter  unexpectedly.  He  was  miserably  clad, 
but  his  face  shone  with  a  strange  rapture.  When  he  saw  me, 
he  threw  himself  upon  me  and  embraced  me  \vith  fervour  ; 
his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  he  was  hardly  able  to  get  out 
the  words,  '  Ah,  monsieur,  monsieur  !  moi  Hongrois  .  .  . 
pauvre  diable  .  ,  .  pas  parler  Fran9ais  .  .  .  un  poco  Italiano. 
Pardonnez  mon  extase.  .  .  .  Ah  !  ai  compris  votre  canon. 
.  .  .  Oui,  oui,  la  grande  bataille.  .  .  .  Allemands  chiens  !  ' 
And  then  striking  his  breast  violently :  '  Dans  le  coeur, 
moi  .  .  .  je  vous  porte.  .  .  .  Ah  !  Fran^ais  .  .  .  revolution- 
naire  .  .  .  savoir  faire  la  musique  des  revolutions  !  '  " 


62  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

expression  of  compassion  to  the  final  glory  of  the 
apotheosis,  and  keeps  it  from  any  unwholesome 
exaggeration.  I  want  gladly  to  express  my  con- 
action  that  that  symphony  will  fire  men's 
courage  and  will  live  as  long  as  a  nation  bears 
the  name  of  France."^ 

How  do  such  w^orks  come  to  be  neglected  by  our 
Republic  ?  How  is  it  they  have  not  a  place  in  our 
public  hfe  ?  Why  are  they  not  part  of  our  great 
ceremonies  ?  That  is  what  one  would  wonderingly 
ask  oneself  if  one  had  not  seen,  for  the  last  century, 
the  indifference  of  the  State  to  Art.  What  might  not 
Berlioz  have  done  if  the  means  had  been  given  him, 
or  if  his  works  had  found  a  place  in  the  fetes  of  the 
Revolution  ?  Unhappily,  one  must  add  that  here 
again  his  character  was  the  enemy  of  his  genius. 
As  this  apostle  of  musical  freedom,  in  the  second 
part  of  his  life,  became  afraid  of  himself  and  recoiled 
before  the  results  of  his  own  principles,  and  returned 
to  classicism,  so  this  revolutionary  fell  to  sullenly 
disparaging  the  people  and  revolutions  ;  and  he 
talks  about  "  the  republican  cholera,"  "  the  dirty 
and  stupid  republic,"  "  the  republic  of  street-porters 
and  rag-gatherers,"  "  the  filthy  rabble  of  humanity 
a  hundred  times  more  stupid  and  animal  in  its 
twitchings  and  revolutionary  grimacings  than  the 
baboons   and   orang-outangs   of  Borneo." ^     What 

1  Written  5  May,  1841. 

2  Berlioz  never  ceased  to  inveigh  against  the  Revolution  of 
1848 — which  should  have_had  his  sympathies.  Instead  of  finding 
material,  like  Wagner,  in  the  excitement  of  that  time  for  im- 
passioned compositions,  he  worked  at  L'Enfance  du  Christ.    He 


BERLIOZ  63 

ingratitude !  He  owed  to  these  revolutions,  to 
these  democratic  storms,  to  these  human  tempests, 
the  best  of  all  his  genius — and  he  disowned  it  all. 
This  musician  of  a  new  era  took  refuge  in  the  past. 


Well,  what  did  it  matter  ?  Whether  he  wished  it 
or  not,  he  opened  out  some  magnificent  roads  for 
Art.  He  has  shown  the  music  of  France  the  way  in 
which  her  genius  should  tread  ;  he  has  shown  her 
possibihties  she  had  never  before  dreamed  of.  He 
has  given  us  a  musical  utterance  at  once  truthful 
and  expressive,  free  from  foreign  traditions,  coming 
from  the  depths  of  our  being,  and  reflecting  our 
spirit ;  an  utterance  which  responded  to  his  imagi- 
nation, to  his  instinct  for  what  was  picturesque, 
to  his  fleeting  impressions,  and  his  delicate  shades 
of  feeling.  He  has  laid  the  strong  foundation  of  a 
national  and  popular  music  for  the  greatest  republic 
in  Europe. 

These  are  shining  qualities.  If  Berlioz  had  had 
Wagner's  reasoning  power  and  had  made  the 
utmost  use  of  his  intuitions,  if  he  had  had  Wagner's 
will  and  had  shaped  the  inspirations  of  his  genius 
and  welded  them  into  a  soHd  whole,  I  venture  to 
say  that  he  would  have  made  a  revolution  in  music 
greater  than  Wagner's  own  ;  for  Wagner,  though 
stronger  and  more  master  of  himself,  was  less 
original  and,  at  bottom,  but  the  close  of  a  glorious 
past. 

affected  absolute  indifference — he  who  was  so  little  made  for 
indifference.  He  approved  the  State's  action,  and  despised  its 
visionary  hopes. 


64  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

Will  that  revolution  still  be  accomplished  ? 
Perhaps ;  but  it  has  suffered  half  a  century's 
delay.  Berlioz  bitterly  calculated  that  people  would 
begin  to  understand  him  about  the  year  1940.^ 

After  all,  why  be  astonished  that  his  mighty 
mission  was  too  much  for  him  ?  He  was  so  alone.  ^ 
As  people  forsook  him,  his  loneliness  stood  out  in 
greater  relief.  He  was  alone  in  the  age  of  Wagner, 
Liszt,  Schumann,  and  Franck ;  alone,  yet  con- 
taining a  whole  world  in  himself,  of  which  his 
enemies,  his  friends,  his  admirers,  and  he  himself, 
were  not  quite  conscious  ;  alone,  and  tortured  by 
his  loneliness.  Alone — the  word  is  repeated  by  the 
music  of  his  youth  and  his  old  age,  by  the  Sym- 
phonie  fantastique  and  Les  Troyens.  It  is  the  word 
I  read  in  the  portrait  before  me  as  I  wTite  these 
lines — the  beautiful  portrait  of  the  Memoires, 
where  his  face  looks  out  in  sad  and  stern  reproach 
on  the  age  that  so  misunderstood  him. 

1  "  My  musical  career  would  finish  very  pleasingly  if  only  I 
could  live  for  a  hundred  and  forty  years  "  {Memoires,  II,  390). 

2  This  solitude  struck  Wagner.  "  Berlioz's  loneliness  is  not 
only  one  of  external  circumstances  ;  its  origin  is  in  his  tempera- 
ment. Though  he  is  a  Frenchman,  with  quick  sympathies  and 
interests  like  those  of  his  fellow-citizens,  yet  he  is  none  the  less 
alone.  He  sees  no  one  before  him  who  will  hold  out  a  helping 
hand,  there  is  no  one  by  his  side  on  whom  he  may  lean  " 
(Article  written  5  May,  1841).  As  one  reads  these  words,  one 
feels  it  was  Wagner's  lack  of  sympathy  and  not  his  inteUigence 
that  prevented  him  from  understanding  Berlioz.  In  his  heart  I 
do  not  doubt  that  he  knew  well  who  was  his  great  rival.  But  he 
never  said  anything  about  it — unless  perhaps  one  counts  an  odd 
document,  certainly  not  intended  for  publication,  where  he  (even 
he)  compares  him  to  Beethoven  and  to  Bonaparte  (Manuscript 
in  the  collection  of  Alfred  Bovet,  published  by  Mottl  in  German 
magazines,  and  by  M.  Georges  de  Massougnes  in  the  Revue  d'ar( 
dramatique,  i  January,  1902). 


WAGNER 


There  is  nothing  so  thrilling  as  first  impressions. 
I  remember  when,  as  a  child,  I  heard  fragments  of 
Wagner's  music  for  the  first  time  at  one  of  old 
Pasdeloup's  concerts  in  the  Cirque  d'Hiver.  I  was 
taken  there  one  dull  and  foggy  Sunday  afternoon ; 
and  as  we  left  the  yellow  fog  outside  and  entered 
the  hall  we  were  met  by  an  overpowering  warmth, 
a  dazzling  blaze  of  light,  and  the  murmuring  voice 
of  the  crowd.  My  eyes  were  blinded,  I  breathed 
with  difficulty,  and  my  limbs  soon  became  cramped  ; 
for  we  sat  on  wooden  benches,  crushed  in  a  narrow 
space  between  solid  walls  of  human  beings.  But 
with  the  first  note  of  the  music  all  was  forgotten, 
and  one  fell  into  a  state  of  painful  yet  delicious 
torpor.  Perhaps  one's  very  discomfort  made  the 
pleasure  keener.  Those  who  know  the  intoxication 
of  climbing  a  mountain  know  also  how  closely  it  is 
associated  with  the  discomforts  of  the  climb — with 
fatigue  and  the  blinding  light  of  the  sun,  with  out- 
of-breathness,  and  all  the  other  sensations  that 
rouse  and  stimulate  life  and  make  the  body  tingle, 
so  that  the  remembrance  of  it  all  is  carved  indelibly 
on  the  mind.  The  comfort  of  a  playhouse  adds 
F  65 


66  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

nothing  to  the  illusion  of  a  play  ;  and  it  may  even 
be  due  to  the  entire  inconvenience  of  the  old  concert- 
rooms  that  I  owe  my  vivid  recollection  of  my  first 
meeting  with  Wagner's  work. 

How  mysterious  it  was,  and  what  a  strange  agita- 
tion it  filled  me  with  !  There  were  new  effects  of 
orchestration,  new  timbres,  new  rhythms,  and  new 
subjects  ;  it  held  the  wild  poetry  of  the  far-away 
Middle  Ages  and  old  legends,  it  throbbed  with  the 
fever  of  our  hidden  sorrows  and  desires.  I  did  not 
understand  it  very  well.  How  should  I  ?  The 
music  was  taken  from  works  quite  unknown  to  me. 
It  was  almost  impossible  to  seize  the  connection  of 
the  ideas  on  account  of  the  poor  acoustics  of  the 
room,  the  bad  arrangement  of  the  orchestra,  and 
the  unskilled  players — all  of  which  served  to  break 
up  the  musical  design  and  spoil  the  harmony  of  its 
colouring.  Passages  that  should  have  been  made 
prominent  were  slurred  over,  and  others  were  dis- 
torted by  faulty  time  or  want  of  precision.  Even 
to-day,  when  our  orchestras  are  seasoned  by  years 
of  study,  I  should  often  be  unable  to  follow  Wagner's 
thought  throughout  a  whole  scene  if  I  did  not  happen 
to  know  the  score,  for  the  outline  of  a  melody  is 
often  smothered  by  the  accompaniment,  and  so  its 
sentiment  is  lost.  If  we  still  find  obscurity  of  mean- 
ing in  Wagner's  works  you  can  imagine  how  much 
worse  it  was  then.  But  what  did  it  matter  ?  I 
used  to  feel  myself  stirred  with  passions  that  were 
not  human  :  some  magnetic  influence  seemed  to 
thrill  me  with  both  pleasure  and  pain,  and  I  felt 
invigorated  and  haopy,  for  it  brought  me  strength. 


1 


WAGNER  67 

It  seemed  as  if  my  child's  heart  were  torn  from  me 
and  the  heart  of  a  hero  put  in  its  place. 

Nor  was  I  alone  in  the  experience.  On  the  faces 
of  the  people  round  about  me  I  saw  the  reflection 
of  my  own  emotions.  What  was  the  meaning  of  it  ? 
The  audience  consisted  chiefly  of  poor  and  common- 
place people,  whose  faces  were  lined  with  the  wear 
and  tear  of  a  life  without  interest  or  ideals ;  their 
minds  were  dull  and  heavy,  and  yet  here  they 
responded  to  the  divine  spirit  of  the  music.  There 
is  no  more  impressive  sight  than  that  of  thousands 
of  people  held  spellbound  by  a  melody ;  it  is  by 
turns  sublime,  grotesque,  and  touching. 

What  a  place  in  my  life  those  Sunday  concerts 
held  !  All  the  week  I  lived  for  those  two  hours  ; 
and  when  they  were  over  I  thought  about  them 
until  the  following  Sunday.  The  fascination  of 
Wagner's  music  for  youth  has  often  troubled 
people  ;  they  think  it  poisons  the  thoughts  and 
dulls  the  activities.  But  the  generation  that  was 
then  intoxicated  by  Wagner  does  not  seem  to  have 
shown  signs  of  demoralisation  since.  Why  do  not 
people  understand  that  if  we  had  need  of  that 
music  it  was  not  because  it  was  death  to  us,  but  life. 
Cramped  by  the  artificiality  of  a  town,  far  from 
action,  or  nature,  or  any  strong  or  real  life,  we 
expanded  under  the  influence  of  this  noble  music — 
music  which  flowed  from  a  heart  filled  with  under- 
standing of  the  world  and  the  breath  of  Nature. 
In  Die  Meister singer,  in  Tristan,  and  in  Siegfried,  we 
went  to  find  the  joy,  the  love,  and  the  vigour  that  we 
so  lacked. 


68  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

At  the  time  when  I  was  feehng  Wagner's  seduc- 
tiveness so  strongly  there  were  ahvays  some  carping 
people  among  my  elders  ready  to  quench  my  admir- 
ation and  say  with  a  superior  smile  :  "  That  is 
nothing.  One  can't  judge  Wagner  at  a  concert. 
You  must  hear  him  in  the  opera-house  at  Bay- 
reuth."  Since  then  I  have  been  several  times  to 
Bayreuth  ;  I  have  seen  Wagner's  works  performed 
in  Berlin,  in  Dresden,  in  Munich,  and  in  other 
German  towns,  but  I  have  never  again  felt  the  old 
intoxication.  People  are  wTong  to  pretend  that 
closer  acquaintance  with  a  fine  work  adds  to  one's 
enjoyment  of  it.  It  may  throw  light  upon  it,  but 
it  nips  one's  imagination  and  dispels  the  mystery. 
The  puzzling  fragments  one  hears  at  concerts  will 
take  on  splendid  proportions  on  account  of  all  the 
mind  adds  to  them.  That  epic  poem  of  the  Niebe- 
lungen  was  once  like  a  forest  in  our  dreams,  where 
strange  and  awful  beings  flashed  before  our  vision 
and  then  vanished.  Later  on,  when  we  had  explored 
all  its  paths,  we  discovered  that  order  and  reason 
reigned  in  the  midst  of  this  apparent  jungle  ;  and 
w^hen  we  came  to  know  the  least  wrinkle  on  the 
faces  of  its  inhabitants,  the  confusion  and  emotion 
of  other  days  no  longer  filled  us. 

But  this  may  be  the  result  of  growing  older  ;  and 
if  I  do  not  recognise  the  Wagner  of  other  days,  it  is 
perhaps  because  I  do  not  recognise  my  former  self. 
A  work  of  art,  and  above  all  a  work  of  musical  art, 
changes  with  ourselves.  Siegfried,  for  example,  is 
for  me  no  longer  full  of  mystery.  The  qualities  in 
it  that  strike  me  to-day  are  its  cheerful  vigour,  its 


WAGNER  69 

clearness  of  form,  its  virile  force  and  freedom,  and 
the  extraordinary  healthiness  of  the  hero,  and, 
indeed,  of  the  whole  work. 

I  sometimes  think  of  poor  Nietzsche  and  his 
passion  for  destroying  the  things  he  loved,  and  how 
he  sought  in  others  the  decadence  that  was  really 
in  himself.  He  tried  to  embody  this  decadence  in 
Wagner,  and,  led  away  by  his  flights  of  fancy  and 
his  mania  for  paradox  (which  would  be  laughable  if 
one  did  not  remember  that  his  whims  were  not 
hatched  in  hours  of  happiness),  he  denied  Wagner 
his  most  obvious  qualities — his  vigour,  his  deter- 
mination, his  unity,  his  logic,  and  his  power  of  pro- 
gress. He  amused  himself  by  comparing  Wagner's 
style  with  that  of  Goncourt,  by  making  him — with 
amusing  irony — a  great  miniaturist  painter,  a  poet 
of  half-tones,  a  musician  of  affectations  and  melan- 
choly, so  delicate  and  effeminate  in  style  that  "  after 
him  all  other  musicians  seemed  too  robust."  ^  He 
has  painted  Wagner  and  his  time  delightfully.  We 
all  enjoy  these  little  pictures  of  the  Tetralogy, 
dehcately  drawn  and  worked  up  by  the  aid  of  a 
magnifying-glass— pictures  of  Wagner,  languishing 
and  beautiful,  in  a  mournful  salon,  and  pictures  of 
the  athletic  meetings  of  the  other  musicians,  who 
were  "  too  robust  "  !  The  amusing  part  is  that  this 
piece  of  wit  has  been  taken  seriously  by  certain 
arbiters  of  elegance,  who  are  only  too  happy  to  be 
able  to  run  counter  to  any  current  opinion,  whatever 
it  may  be. 

I  do  not  say  that  there  may  not  be  a  decadent 

^  F.  Nietzsche,  Der  Fall  Wagner. 


70  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

side  in  Wagner,  revealing  super-sensitiveness  or 
even  hysteria  and  other  modern  nervous  affections. 
And  if  this  side  was  lacking  he  would  not  be  repre- 
sentative of  his  time,  and  that  is  what  every  great 
artist  ought  to  be.  But  there  is  certainly  something 
more  in  him  than  decadence  ;  and  if  women  and 
young  men  cannot  see  anything  beyond  it,  it  only 
proves  their  inability  to  get  outside  themselves.  A 
long  time  ago  Wagner  himself  complained  to  Liszt 
that  neither  the  public  nor  artists  knew  how  to 
listen  to  or  understand  any  side  of  his  music  but 
the  effeminate  side :  "  They  do  not  grasp  its 
strength,"  he  said.  "  My  supposed  successes,"  he 
also  tells  us,  "  are  founded  on  misunderstanding. 
My  public  reputation  isn't  worth  a  walnut-shell." 
And  it  is  true  he  has  been  applauded,  patronised, 
and  monopolised  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  by  all 
the  decadents  of  art  and  literature.  Scarcely  any- 
one has  seen  in  him  a  vigorous  musician  and  a 
classic  writer,  or  has  recognised  him  as  Beethoven's 
direct  successor,  the  inheritor  of  his  heroic  and 
pastoral  genius,  of  his  epic  inspirations^^  and  battle- 
field rhythms,  of  his  Napoleonic  phrases  and  atmos- 
phere of  stirring  trumpet-calls. 

Nowhere  is  Wagner  nearer  to  Beethoven  than  in 
Siegfried.  In  Die  Walkure  certain  characters, 
certain  phrases  of  Wotan,  of  Briinnhilde,  and, 
especially,  of  Siegmund,  bear  a  close  relationship  to 
Beethoven's  symphonies  and  sonatas.  I  can  never 
play  the  recitative  con  espressione  e  semplice  of  the 
seventeenth  sonata  for  the  piano  (Op.  31,  No.  2) 
without  being  reminded  of  the  forests  of  Die  Walkure 


WAGNER  71 

and  the  fugitive  hero.  But  in  Siegfried  I  find,  not 
only  a  Hkeness  to  Beethoven  in  details,  but  the 
same  spirit  running  through  the  work— both  the 
poem  and  the  music.  I  cannot  help  thinking  that 
Beethoven  would  perhaps  have  disliked  Tristan, 
but  would  have  loved  Siegfried:  for  the  latter  is  a 
perfect  incarnation  of  the  spirit  of  old  Germany, 
virginal  and  gross,  sincere  and  maHcious,  full  of 
humour  and  sentiment,  of  deep  feehng,  of  dreams 
of  bloody  and  joyous  battles,  of  the  shade  of  great 
oak-trees  and  the  song  of  birds. 


In  my  opinion,  Siegfried,  in  spirit  and  in  form, 
stands  alone  in  Wagner's  work.  It  breathes  perfect 
health  and  happiness,  and  it  overflows  with  glad- 
ness. Only  Die  Meister singer  rivals  it  in  merriment, 
though  even  there  one  does  not  find  such  a  nice 
balance  of  poetry  and  music. 

And  Siegfried  rouses  one's  admiration  the  more 
when  one  thinks  that  it  was  the  offspring  of  sickness 
and  suffering.  The  time  at  which  Wagner  wrote  it 
was  one  of  the  saddest  in  his  life.  It  often  happens 
so  in  art.  One  goes  astray  in  trying  to  interpret  an 
artist's  Hfe  by  his  work,  for  it  is  exceptional  to  find 
one  a  counterpart  of  the  other.  It  is  more  likely 
that  an  artist's  work  will  express  the  opposite  of 
his  hfe— the  things  that  he  did  not  experience. 
The  object  of  art  is  to  fill  up  what  is  missing  in  the 
artist's  experience  :  "  Art  begins  where  life  leaves 
off,"  said  Wagner.  A  man  of  action  is  rarely  pleased 
with  stimulating  works  of  art.     Borgia  and  Sforza 


72  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

patronised  Leonardo.  The  strong,  full-blooded  men 
of  the  seventeenth  century  ;  the  apoplectic  court 
at  Versailles  (where  Fagon's  lancet  played  so  neces- 
sary a  part)  ;  the  generals  and  ministers  who 
harassed  the  Protestants  and  burned  the  Palatinate 
— all  these  loved  pastorales.  Napoleon  wept  at  a 
reading  of  Paul  et  Virginie,  and  delighted  in  the 
pallid  music  of  Paesiello.  A  man  wearied  by  an 
over-active  life  seeks  repose  in  art ;  a  man  who 
lives  a  narrow,  commonplace  life  seeks  energy  in 
art.  A  great  artist  writes  a  gay  work  when  he  is 
sad,  and  a  sad  work  when  he  is  gay,  almost  in  spite 
of  himself.  Beethoven's  symphony  To  Joy  is  the 
offspring  of  his  misery  ;  and  Wagner's  Meistersinger 
was  composed  immediately  after  the  failure  of 
Tannhduser  in  Paris.  People  try  to  find  in  Tristan 
the  trace  of  some  love-story  of  Wagner's,  but 
Wagner  himself  says  :  "  As  in  all  my  life  I  have 
never  truly  tasted  the  happiness  of  love,  I  will 
raise  a  monument  to  a  beautiful  dream  of  it  :  I  have 
the  idea  of  Tristan  und  Isolde  in  my  head."  And  so 
it  was  with  his  creation  of  the  happy  and  heedless 
Siegfried. 


The  first  ideas  of  Siegfried  were  contemporary 
with  the  Revolution  of  1848,  which  Wagner  took 
part  in  with  the  same  enthusiasm  he  put  into  every- 
thing else.  His  recognised  biographer,  Herr  Houston 
Stewart  Chamberlain — who,  with  ^M.  Henri  Lichten- 
berger,  has  succeeded  best  in  unravelling  Wagner's 
complex  soul,   though  he  is  not  without   certain 


WAGNER  73 

prejudices — has  been  at  great  pains  to  prove  that 
Wagner  was  always  a  patriot  and  a  German 
monarchist.  Well,  he  may  have  been  so  later  on, 
but  it  was  not,  I  think,  the  last  phase  of  his  evolu- 
tion. His  actions  speak  for  themselves.  On  14  June, 
1848,  in  a  famous  speech  to  the  National  Demo- 
cratic Association,  Wagner  violently  attacked  the 
organisation  of  society  itself,  and  demanded  both 
the  abolition  of  money  and  the  extinction  of  what 
was  left  of  the  aristocracy.  In  Das  Kunstwerk  der 
Zukunft  (1849)  he  showed  that  beyond  the  "  local 
nationalism  "  were  signs  of  a  "  supernational  univer- 
salism."  And  all  this  was  not  merely  talk,  for  he 
risked  his  life  for  his  ideas.  Herr  Chamberlain  him- 
self quotes  the  account  of  a  witness  who  saw  him, 
in  May,  1849,  distributing  revolutionary  pamphlets 
to  the  troops  who  were  besieging  Dresden.  It  was 
a  miracle  that  he  was  not  arrested  and  shot.  We 
know  that  after  Dresden  was  taken  a  warrant  was 
out  against  him,  and  he  fled  to  Switzerland,  with  a 
passport  on  which  was  a  borrowed  name.  If  it  be 
true  that  Wagner  later  declared  that  he  had  been 
"  involved  in  error  and  led  away  by  his  feelings  " 
it  matters  Httle  to  the  history  of  that  time  Errors 
and  enthusiasms  are  an  integral  part  of  life,  and 
one  must  not  ignore  them  in  a  man's  biography 
under  the  pretext  that  he  regretted  them  twenty 
or  thirty  years  later,  for  they  have,  nevertheless, 
helped  to  guide  his  actions  and  impressed  his 
imagination.  It  was  out  of  the  Revolution  itself 
that  Siegfried  directly  sprang. 
In    1848,    Wagner  was   not   yet   thinking   of   a 


74  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Tetralogy,  but  of  an  heroic  opera  in  three  acts 
called  Siegfried's  Tod,  in  which  the  fatal  power  of 
gold  was  to  be  symbolised  in  the  treasure  of  the 
Niebelungen  ;  and  Siegfried  was  to  represent  "  a 
sociaHst  redeemer  come  down  to  earth  to  abolish 
the  reign  of  Capital."  As  the  rough  draft  developed, 
Wagner  went  up  the  stream  of  his  hero's  hfe.  He 
dreamed  of  his  childhood,  of  his  conquest  of  the 
treasure,  of  the  awakening  of  Briinnhilde  ;  and  in 
185 1  he  wrote  the  poem  of  Der  Junge  Siegfried. 
Siegfried  and  Briinnhilde  represent  the  humanity 
of  the  future,  the  new  era  that  should  be  realised 
when  the  earth  was  set  free  from  the  yoke  of  gold. 
Then  Wagner  went  farther  back  still,  to  the  sources  of 
the  legend  itself,  and  Wotan  appeared,  the  symbol  of 
our  time,  a  man  such  as  you  or  I — in  contrast  to  Sieg- 
fried, man  as  he  ought  to  be,  and  one  day  will  be.  On 
this  subject  Wagner  says,  in  a  letter  to  Roeckel  : 
"Look  well  at  Wotan;  he  is  the  unmistakable  like- 
ness of  ourselves,  and  the  sum  of  the  present-day 
spirit,  while  Siegfried  is  the  man  we  wait  and  wish  for 
— the  future  man  whom  we  cannot  create,  but  who 
will  create  himself  by  our  annihilation — the  most 
perfect  man  I  can  imagine."  Finally  Wagner  con- 
ceived the  Twilight  of  the  Gods,  the  fall  of  the 
Valhalla — our  present  system  of  society — and  the 
birth  of  a  regenerated  humanity.  Wagner  wrote 
to  Uhlig  in  1851  that  the  complete  work  was  to  be 
played  after  the  great  Revolution. 

The  opera  public  would  probably  be  very  aston- 
ished to  learn  that  in  Siegfried  they  applaud  a  revolu- 
tionary work,  expressly  directed  by  Wagner  against 


WAGNER  75 

this  detested  Capital,  whose  downfall  would  have 
been  so  dear  to  him.  And  he  never  doubted  that 
he  was  expressing  grief  in  all  these  pages  of  shining 

joy- 
Wagner  went  to  Zurich  after  a  stay  in  Paris,  where 
he  felt  "  so  much  distrust  for  the  artistic  world  and 
horror  for  the  restraint  that  he  was  forced  to  put 
upon  himself  "  that  he  was  seized  with  a  nervous 
malady  which  nearly  killed  him.  He  returned  to 
work  at  Der  Jiinge  Siegfried,  and  he  says  it  brought 
him  great  joy. 

"  But  I  am  unhappy  in  not  being  able  to  apply 
myself  to  anything  but  music.  I  know  I  am 
feeding  on  an  illusion,  and  that  reality  is  the  only 
thing  worth  having.  My  health  is  not  good>  and 
my  nerves  are  in  a  state  of  increasing  weakness. 
My  life,  lived  entirely  in  the  imagination  and  with- 
out sufficient  action,  tires  me  so,  that  I  can  only 
work  with  frequent  breaks  and  long  intervals  of 
rest ;  otherwise  I  pay  the  penalty  with  long  and 
painful  suffering.  ...  I  am  very  lonely.  I  often 
wish  for  death. 

"  While  I  work  I  forget  my  troubles  ;  but  the 
moment  I  rest  they  come  flocking  about  me,  and 
I  am  very  miserable.  What  a  splendid  life  is  an 
artist's  !  Look  at  it !  How  willingly  would  I 
part  with  it  for  a  week  of  real  life. 

"  I  can't  understand  how  a  really  happy  man 
could  think  of  serving  art.  If  we  enjoyed  life,  we 
should  have  no  need  of  art.  When  the  present 
has  nothing  more  to  offer  us  we  cry  out  our  needs 


76  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

by  means  of  art.  To  have  my  youth  again  and 
my  health,  to  enjoy  nature,  to  have  a  wife  who 
would  love  me  devotedly,  and  fine  children — for 
this  I  would  give  up  all  my  art.  Now  I  have  said 
it — give  me  what  is  left." 

Thus  the  poem  of  the  Tetralogy  was  written  with 
doubts,  as  he  said,  as  to  w^hether  he  should  abandon 
art  and  all  belonging  to  it  and  become  a  healthy, 
normal  man — a  son  of  nature.  He  began  to  compose 
the  music  of  the  poem  while  in  a  state  of  suffering, 
which  every  day  became  more  acute. 

"  My  nights  are  often  sleepless  ;  I  get  out  of 
bed,  wretched  and  exhausted,  with  the  thought 
of  a  long  day  before  me,  which  will  not  bring  me 
a  single  joy.  The  society  of  others  tortures  me, 
and  I  avoid  it  only  to  torture  myself.  Every- 
thing I  do  fills  me  with  disgust.  It  can't  go  on 
for  ever.  I  can't  stand  such  a  life  any  longer.  I 
will  kill  myself  rather  than  live  hke  this.  ...  I 
don't  believe  in  anything,  and  I  have  only  one 
desire — to  sleep  so  soundly  that  human  misery 
will  exist  no  more  for  me.  I  ought  to  be  able  to 
get  such  a  sleep  somehow  ;  it  should  not  be  really 
difficult." 

For  distraction  he  went  to  Italy ;  Turin,  Genoa, 
Spezia,  and  Nice.  But  there,  in  a  strange  world, 
his  loneliness  seemed  so  frightful  that  he  became 
very  depressed,  and  made  ail  haste  back  to  Zurich. 
It  was  there  he  wrote  the  happy  music  of  Das 
RJieingold.  He  began  the  score  of  Die  Walkure  at  a 
time  when  his  normal  condition  was  one  of  suffering. 


WAGNER  77 

Then  he  discovered  Schopenhauer,  whose  philosophy 
only  helped  to  confirm  and  crystallise  his  instinctive 
pessimism.  In  the  spring  of  1855  he  went  to  London 
to  give  concerts  ;  but  he  was  ill  there,  and  this 
fresh  contact  with  the  world  only  served  to  annoy 
him  further.  He  had  some  difficulty  in  again  taking 
up  Die  Walkure  ;  but  he  finished  it  at  last  in  spite  of 
frequent  attacks  of  facial  erysipelas,  for  which  he 
afterwards  had  to  undergo  a  hydropathic  cure  at 
Geneva.  He  began  the  score  of  Siegfried  towards 
the  end  of  1856,  while  the  thought  of  Tristan  was 
stirring  within  him.  In  Tristan  he  wished  to  depict 
love  as  "a  dreadful  anguish "  ;  and  this  idea 
obsessed  him  so  completely  that  he  could  not  finish 
Siegfried.  He  seemed  to  be  consumed  by  a  burning 
fever  ;  and,  abandoning  Siegfried  in  the  middle  of 
the  second  act,  he  threw  himself  madly  into  Tristan. 
"I  want  to  gratify  my  desire  for  love,"  he  says,  "until 
it  is  completely  satiated ;  and  in  the  folds  of  the 
black  flag  that  floats  over  its  consummation  I  wish 
to  wrap  myself  and  die."  ^  Siegfried  was  not 
finished  until  5  February,  1871,  at  the  end  of  the 
Franco-Prussian  war — that  is  fourteen  years  later, 
after  several  interruptions. 

Such  is,  in  a  few  words,  the  history  of  this  heroic 
idyll.  It  is  perhaps  as  well  to  remind  the  public 
now  and  then  that  the  hours  of  distraction  they 
enjoy  by  means  of  art  may  represent  years  of  suffer- 
ing for  the  artist. 


^  The  quotations  from  Wagner  are  taken  from  his  letters  to 
Roeckel,  Uhlig,  and  Liszt,  between  1851  and  1856. 


78  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

Do  you  know  the  amusing  account  Tolstoy  gave 
of  a  performance  of  Siegfried  ?  I  will  quote  it  from 
his  book,  What  is  Art  ? — 

"  When  I  arrived,  an  actor  in  tight-fitting 
breeches  was  seated  before  an  object  that  was 
meant  to  represent  an  anvil.  He  wore  a  wig  and 
false  beard  ;  his  white  and  manicured  hands  had 
nothing  of  the  workman  about  them  ;  and  his 
easy  air,  prominent  belly,  and  flabby  muscles 
readily  betrayed  the  actor.  With  an  absurd 
hammer  he  struck — as  no  one  else  would  ever 
strike — a  fantastic-looking  sword-blade.  One 
guessed  he  was  a  dwarf,  because  when  he  walked 
he  bent  his  legs  at  the  knees.  He  cried  out  a 
great  deal,  and  opened  his  mouth  in  a  queer 
fashion.  The  orchestra  also  emitted  peculiar 
noises  like  several  beginnings  that  had  nothing 
to  do  with  one  another.  Then  another  actor 
appeared  with  a  horn  in  his  belt,  leading  a  man 
dressed  up  as  a  bear,  who  walked  on  all-fours. 
He  let  loose  the  bear  on  the  dwarf,  who  ran  away, 
but  forgot  to  bend  his  knees  this  time.  The  actor 
with  the  human  face  represented  the  hero,  Sieg- 
fried. He  cried  out  for  a  long  time,  and  the  dwarf 
replied  in  the  same  way.  Then  a  traveller  arrived 
— the  god  Wotan.  He  had  a  wig,  too  ;  and, 
settling  himself  down  with  his  spear,  in  a  silly 
attitude,  he  told  Mimi  all  about  things  he  already 
knew,  but  of  which  the  audience  was  ignorant. 
Then  Siegfried  seized  some  bits  that  were  sup- 
posed to  represent  pieces  of  a  sword,  and  sang : 


WAGNER  79 

'  Heaho,  heaho,  hoho  !  Hoho,  hoho,  hoho,  hoho  ! 
Hoheo,  haho,  haheo,  hoho ! '  And  that  was  the  end 
of  the  first  act.  It  was  all  so  artificial  and  stupid 
that  I  had  great  difiiculty  in  sitting  it  out.  But  my 
friends  begged  me  to  stay,  and  assured  me  that 
the  second  act  would  be  better. 

"  The  next  scene  represented  a  forest.  Wotan 
was  waking  up  the  dragon.  At  first  the  dragon 
said,  '  I  want  to  go  to  sleep  '  ;  but  eventually  he 
came  out  of  his  grotto.  The  dragon  was  repre- 
sented by  two  men  clothed  in  a  green  skin  with 
some  scales  stuck  about  it.  At  one  end  of  the 
skin  they  wagged  a  tail,  and  at  the  other  end 
they  opened  a  crocodile's  mouth,  out  of  which 
came  fire.  The  dragon,  which  ought  to  have  been 
a  frightful  beast — and  perhaps  he  would  have 
frightened  children  about  five  years  old — said  a 
few  words  in  a  bass  voice.  It  was  so  childish  and 
feeble  that  one  was  astonished  to  see  grown-up 
people  present ;  even  thousands  of  so-called 
cultured  people  looked  on  and  listened  attentively, 
and  went  into  raptures.  Then  Siegfried  arrived 
with  his  horn.  He  lay  down  during  a  pause,  which 
is  reputed  to  be  very  beautiful ;  and  sometimes 
he  talked  to  himself,  and  sometimes  he  was  quite 
silent.  He  wanted  to  imitate  the  song  of  the 
birds,  and  cut  a  rush  with  his  horn,  and  made  a 
flute  out  of  it.  But  he  played  the  flute  badly, 
and  so  he  began  to  blow  his  horn.  The  scene  is 
intolerable,  and  there  is  not  the  least  trace  of 
music  in  it.  I  was  annoyed  to  see  three 
thousand     people    round    about    me,    listening 


8o  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

submissively    to    this    absurdity    and    dutifully 
admiring  it. 

"  With  some  courage  I  managed  to  wait  for 
the  next  scene — Siegfried's  fight  with  the  dragon. 
There  were  roarings  and  flames  of  fire  and  bran- 
dishings  of  the  sword.  But  I  could  not  stand  it 
any  longer ;  and  I  fled  out  of  the  theatre  with  a 
feeling  of  disgust  that  I  have  not  yet  forgotten." 

I  admit  I  cannot  read  this  delightful  criticism 
without  laughing  ;  and  it  does  not  affect  me  pain- 
fully like  Nietzsche's  pernicious  and  morbid  irony. 
It  used  to  be  a  grief  to  me  that  two  men  whom  I 
loved  with  an  equal  affection,  and  whom  I  reverenced 
as  the  finest  spirits  in  Europe,  remained  strangers 
and  hostile  to  each  other.  I  could  not  bear  the 
thought  that  a  genius,  hopelessly  misunderstood 
by  the  crowd,  should  be  bent  on  making  his  solitude 
more  bitter  and  narrow  by  refusing,  with  a  sort  of 
jealous  waywardness,  to  be  reconciled  to  his  equals, 
or  to  offer  them  the  hand  of  friendship.  But  now 
I  think  that  perhaps  it  was  better  so.  The  first 
virtue  of  genius  is  sincerity.  If  Nietzsche  had  to 
go  out  of  his  way  not  to  understand  Wagner,  it  is 
natural,  on  the  other  hand,  that  Wagner  should  be 
a  closed  book  to  Tolstoy  ;  it  would  be  almost  sur- 
prising if  it  were  otherwise.  Each  one  has  his  own 
part  to  play,  and  has  no  need  to  change  it.  Wagner's 
wonderful  dreams  and  magic  intuition  of  the  inner 
life  are  not  less  valuable  to  us  than  Tolstoy's  pitiless 
truth,  in  which  he  exposes  modern  society  and  tears 
away  the  veil  of  hypocrisy  with  which  she  covers 


WAGNER  8 I 

herself.  So  I  admire  Siegfried,  and  at  the  same  time 
enjoy  Tolstoy's  satire  ;  for  I  like  the  latter's  sturdy 
humour,  which  is  one  of  the  most  striking  features 
of  his  realism,  and  which,  as  he  himself  noticed, 
makes  him  closely  resemble  Rousseau.  Both 
men  show  us  an  ultra-refined  civiHsation,  and 
both  are  uncompromising  apostles  of  a  return  to 
nature. 

Tolstoy's  rough  banter  recalls  Rousseau's  sarcasm 
about  an  opera  of  Rameau's.  In  the  Nouvelle 
Heloise,  he  rails  in  a  similar  fashion  against  the 
sadly  fantastic  performances  at  the  theatre.  It  was, 
even  then,  a  question  of  monsters,  "  of  dragons 
animated  by  a  blockhead  of  a  Savoyard,  who  had 
not  enough  spirit  for  the  beast." 

"  They  assured  me  that  they  had  a  tremendous 
lot  of  machinery  to  make  all  this  movement, 
and  they  offered  several  times  to  show  it  to  me  ; 
but  I  felt  no  curiosity  about  little  effects  achieved 
by  great  efforts.  .  .  .  The  sky  is  represented  by 
some  blue  rags  suspended  from  sticks  and  cords, 
like  a  laundry  display.  .  .  .  The  chariots  of  the 
gods  and  goddesses  are  made  of  four  joists  in  a 
frame,  suspended  by  a  thick  rope,  as  a  swing 
might  be.  Then  a  plank  is  stuck  across  the  joists, 
and  on  this  is  seated  a  god.  In  front  of  him  hangs 
a  piece  of  daubed  cloth,  which  serves  as  a  cloud 
upon  which  his  splendid  chariot  may  rest.  .  .  . 
The  theatre  is  furnished  with  little  square  trap- 
doors which,  opening  as  occasion  requires,  show 
that  the  demons  can  be  let  loose  from  the  cellars. 


82  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

When  the  demons  have  to  fly  in  the  air,  dummies 
of  brown  cloth  are  substituted,  or  sometimes  real 
chimney-sweeps,  who  swing  in  the  air,  suspended 
by  cords,  until  they  are  gloriously  lost  in  the  rag 
sky.  .  .  . 

"  But  you  can  have  no  idea  of  the  dreadful  cries 
and  roarings  with  which  the  theatre  resounds.  .  .  . 
What  is  so  extraordinary  is  that  these  bowlings  are 
almost  the  only  things  that  the  audience  applaud. 
By  the  way  they  clap  their  hands  one  would  take 
them  to-be  a  lot  of  deaf  creatures,  who  were  so 
delighted  to  catch  a  few  piercing  sounds  now  and 
then  that  they  wanted  the  actors  to  do  them  all 
over  again.  I  am  quite  sure  that  people  applaud 
the  bawling  of  an  actress  at  the  opera  as  they 
would  a  mountebank's  feats  of  skill  at  a  fair — 
one  suffers  while  they  are  going  on,  but  one  is 
so  delighted  to  see  them  finish  without  an  accident 
that  one  willingly  demonstrates  one's  pleasure. 
.  .  .  With  these  beautiful  sounds,  as  true  as  they 
are  sweet,  those  of  the  orchestra  blend  very 
worthily.  Imagine  an  unending  clatter  of  instru- 
ments without  any  melody  ;  a  lingering  and  end- 
less groaning  among  the  bass  parts  ;  and  the 
whole  the  most  mournful  and  boring  thing  that 
I  ever  heard  in  my  life.  I  could  not  put  up  v/ith  it 
for  half  an  hour  without  getting  a  violent  head- 
ache. 

"  All  this  forms  a  sort  of  psalmody,  possessing 
neither  tune  nor  time.  But  if  by  any  chance  a 
lively  air  is  played,  there  is  a  general  stamping  ; 
the  audience  is  set  in  motion,  and  follows,  with  a 


WAGNER  83 

great  deal  of  trouble  and  noise,  some  performer 
in  the  orchestra.  Delighted  to  feel  for  a  few- 
moments  the  rhythm  that  is  so  lacking,  they 
torment  the  ear,  the  voice,  the  arms,  the  legs,  and 
all  the  body,  to  chase  after  a  tune  that  is  ever 
ready  to  escape  them.  ..." 

I  have  quoted  this  rather  long  passage  to  show 
how  the  impression  made  by  one  of  Rameau's 
operas  on  his  contemporaries  resembled  that 
made  by  Wagner  on  his  enemies.  It  was  not 
without  reason  that  Rameau  was  said  to  be 
Wagner's  forerunner,  as  Rousseau  was  Tolstoy's 
forerunner. 

In  reality,  it  was  not  against  Siegfried  itself  that 
Tolstoy's  criticism  was  directed  ;  and  Tolstoy  was 
closer  than  he  thought  to  the  spirit  of  this  drama. 
Is  not  Si'egfried  the  heroic  incarnation  of  a  free 
and  healthy  man,  sprung  directly  from  Nature  ? 
In  a  sketch  of  Siegfried,  written  in  1848,  Wagner 
says  : 

"  To  follow  the  impulses  of  my  heart  is  my 
supreme  law  ;  what  I  can  accomplish  by  obeying 
my  instincts  is  what  I  ought  to  do.  Is  that 
voice  of  instinct  cursed  or  blessed  ?  I  do  not 
know ;  but  I  yield  to  it,  and  never  force  myself 
to  run  counter  to  my  inclination." 

Wagner  fought  against  civihsation  by  quite  other 
methods  than  those  employed  by  Tolstoy ;  and 
if  the  efforts  of  the  two  were  equally  great,  the 
practical  result  is — one  must  really  say  it — as  poor 
on  one  side  as  on  the  other. 


84  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

What  Tolstoy's  raillery  is  really  aimed  at  is  not 
Wagner's  work,  but  the  way  in  which  his  work  was 
represented.  The  splendours  of  the  setting  do  not 
hide  the  childishness  of  the  ideas  behind  them  :  the 
dragon  Fafna,  Fricka's  rams,  the  bear,  the  serpent, 
and  all  the  Valhalla  menagerie  have  always  been 
ridiculous.  I  will  only  add  that  the  dragon's 
failure  to  be  terrifying  w^as  not  Wagner's  fault,  for 
he  never  attempted  to  depict  a  terrifying  dragon. 
He  gave  it  quite  clearly,  and  of  his  own  choice,  a 
comic  character.  Both  the  text  and  the  music  make 
Fafner  a  sort  of  ogre,  a  simple  creature,  but,  above 
all,  a  grotesque  one. 

Besides,  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  scenic  reality 
takes  away  rather  than  adds  to  the  effect  of  these 
great  philosophical  fairylands.  Malwida  von  Mey- 
senbug  told  me  that  at  the  Bayreuth  festival  of 
1876,  while  she  was  following  one  of  the  Ring  scenes 
very  attentively  with  her  opera-glasses,  two  hands 
were  laid  over  her  eyes,  and  she  heard  Wagner's 
voice  say  impatiently :  "  Don't  look  so  much  at 
what  is  going  on.  Listen  !  "  It  was  good  counsel. 
There  are  dilettanti  who  pretend  that  at  a  concert 
the  best  way  to  enjoy  Beethoven's  last  works — 
where  the  sonority  is  defective — is  to  stop  the  ears 
and  read  the  score.  One  might  say  with  less  of  a 
paradox  that  the  best  way  to  follow  a  performance 
of  Wagner's  operas  is  to  listen  with  the  eyes  shut. 
So  perfect  is  the  music,  so  powerful  its  hold  on  the 
imagination,  that  it  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired ; 
what  it  suggests  to  the  mind  is  infinitely  finer  than 
what  the  eyes  may  see.     I  have  never  shared  the 


WAGNER  55 

opinion  that  Wagner's  works  may  be  best  appre- 
ciated in  the  theatre.  His  works  are  epic  symphonies. 
As  a  frame  for  them  I  should  hke  temples  ;  as 
scenery,  the  illimitable  land  of  thought ;  as  actors, 
our  dreams. 


The  first  act  of  Siegfried  is  one  of  the  most 
dramatic  in  the  Tetralogy.  Nothing  satisfied  me 
more  completely  at  Bayreuth,  both  as  regards  the 
actors  and  the  dramatic  effects.  Fantastic  creatures 
like  Alberich  and  Mimi,  who  seem  to  be  out  of  their 
element  in  France,  are  rooted  deep  down  in  German 
imaginations.  The  Bayreuth  actors  surpassed  them- 
selves in  making  them  startlingly  lifelike,  with  a 
trembling  and  grimacing  realism.  Burgstaller,  who 
was  then  making  his  debut  in  Siegfried,  acted 
with  an  impetuous  awkwardness  which  accorded 
well  with  the  part.  I  remember  with  what  zest — 
which  seemed  in  no  way  affected — he  played  the 
hero  smith,  labouring  like  a  true  workman,  blowing 
the  fire  and  making  the  blade  glow,  dipping  it  in  the 
steaming  water,  and  working  it  on  the  anvil ;  and 
then,  in  a  burst  of  Homeric  gaiety,  singing  that  fine 
hymn  at  the  end  of  the  first  act,  which  sounds  like 
an  air  by  Bach  or  Handel. 

But  in  spite  of  all  this,  I  felt  how  much  better  it 
was  to  dream,  or  to  hear  this  poem  of  a  youthful 
soul  at  a  concert.  It  is  then  that  the  magic  murmurs 
of  the  forest  in  the  second  act  speak  more  directly 
to  the  heart.  However  beautiful  the  scenerj^  of  glades 


eO  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

and  woods,  however  cleverly  the  light  is  made  to 
change  and  dance  among  the  trees — and  it  is 
manipulated  now  like  a  set  of  organ  stops — it  still 
seems  almost  wrong  to  listen  with  open  eyes  to 
music  that,  unaided,  can  show  us  a  glorious  summer's 
day,  and  make  us  see  the  swaying  of  the  tree-tops, 
and  hear  the  brush  of  the  wind  against  the  leaves. 
Through  the  music  alone  the  hum  and  murmur  of  a 
thousand  little  voices  is  about  us,  the  glorious  song 
of  the  birds  floats  into  the  depths  of  a  blue  sky  ;  or 
comes  a  silence,  vibrating  with  invisible  life,  when 
Nature,  with  her  mysterious  smile,  opens  her  arms 
and  hushes  all  things  in  a  divine  sleep. 


Wagner  left  Siegfried  asleep  in  the  forest  in  order 
to  embark  on  the  funereal  vessel  of  Tristan  mid 
Isolde.  But  he  left  Siegfried  with  some  anguish  of 
heart.    When  writing  to  Liszt  in  1857,  he  says  : 

"  I  have  taken  young  Siegfried  into  the  depths 
of  a  lonely  forest ;  there  I  have  left  him  under  a 
lime-tree,  and  said  good-bye  to  him  with  tears  in 
my  eyes.  It  has  torn  my  heart  to  bury  him_  alive, 
and  I  had  a  hard  and  painful  fight  with  myself 
before  I  could  do  it.  .  .  .  Shall  I  ever  go  back  to 
him  ?  No,  it  is  all  finished.  Don't  let  us  speak 
of  it  again." 

Wagner  had  reason  to  be  sad.  He  knew  well  that 
he  would  never  find  his  young  Siegfried  again.    He 


WAGNER  87 

roused  him  up  ten  years  later.  But  all  was  changed 
That  splendid  third  act  has  not  the  freshness  of  the 
first  two.  Wotan  has  become  an  important  figure, 
and  brought  reason  and  pessimism  with  him  into  the 
drama.  Wagner's  later  conceptions  were  perhaps 
loftier,  and  his  genius  was  more  master  of  itself 
(think  of  the  classic  dignity  in  the  awakening  of 
Briinnhilde)  ;  but  the  ardour  and  happy  expression 
of  youth  is  gone.  I  know  that  this  is  not  the  opinion 
of  most  of  Wagner's  admirers  ;  but,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  few  pages  of  sublime  beauty,  I  have  never 
altogether  liked  the  love  scenes  at  the  end  of  Sieg- 
fried and  at  the  beginning  of  Gdtterddmmerung.  I 
find  their  style  rather  pompous  and  declamatory  ; 
and  their  almost  excessive  refinement  makes  them 
border  upon  dulness.  The  form  of  the  duet,  too, 
seems  cut  and  dried,  and  there  are  signs  of  weari- 
ness in  it.  The  heaviness  of  the  last  pages  of 
Siegfried  recalls  Die  Meister singer,  which  is  also 
of  that  period.  It  is  no  longer  the  same  joy  nor 
the  same  quality  of  joy  that  is  found  in  the  earlier 
acts. 

Yet  it  does  not  really  matter,  for  joy  is  there, 
nevertheless  ;  and  so  splendid  was  the  first  inspira- 
tion of  the  work  that  the  years  have  not  dimmed  its 
brilliancy.  One  would  like  to  end  with  Siegfried, 
and  escape  the  gloomy  Gdtterddmmerung.  For  those 
who  have  sensitive  feelings  the  fourth  day  of  the 
Tetralogy  has  a  depressing  effect.  I  remember  the 
tears  I  have  seen  shed  at  the  end  of  the  Ring,  and 
the  words  of  a  friend,  as  we  left  the  theatre  at  Bay- 
reuth  and  descended  the  hill  at  night  :    "I  feel  as 


88  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

though  I  were  coming  away  from  the  burial  of  some- 
one I  dearly  loved."  It  was  truly  a  time  of  mourn- 
ing. Perhaps  there  was  something  incongruous  in 
building  such  a  structure  when  it  had  universal 
death  for  its  conclusion — or  at  least  in  making  the 
whole  an  object  of  show  and  instruction.  Tristan 
achieves  the  same  end  with  much  more  power,  as  the 
action  is  swifter.  Besides  that,  the  end  of  Tristan 
is  not  without  comfort,  for  life  there  is  terrible. 
But  it  is  not  the  same  in  Gotterdammerung  ;  for  in 
spite  of  the  absurdity  of  the  spell  which  is  set  upon 
the  love  of  Siegfried  and  Briinnhilde,  life  with  them 
is  happy  and  desirable,  since  they  are  beings  capable 
of  love,  and  death  appears  to  be  a  splendid  but 
awful  catastrophe.  And  one  cannot  say  the  Ring 
breathes  a  spirit  of  renunciation  and  sacrifice  like 
Parsifal ;  renunciation  and  sacrifice  are  only  talked 
about  in  the  Ring ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  last  trans- 
ports which  impel  Briinnhilde  to  the  funeral  pyre, 
they  are  neither  an  inspiration  nor  a  delight.  One 
has  the  impression  of  a  great  gulf  yawning  at  one's 
feet,  and  the  anguish  of  seeing  those  one  loves  fall 
into  it. 

I  have  often  regretted  that  Wagner's  first  con- 
ception of  Siegfried  changed  in  the  course  of  years ; 
and  in  spite  of  the  magnificent  denouement  of 
Gotterdammerung  (which  is  really  more  effective  in 
a  concert  room,  for  the  real  tragedy  ends  with 
Siegfried's  death),  I  cannot  help  thinking  with 
regret  how  fine  a  more  optimistic  poem  from  this 
revolutionary  of  '48  might  have  been.  People  tell 
me  that  it  would  then  have  been  less  true  to  life. 


WAGNER  89 

But  why  should  it  be  truthful  to  depict  life  only  as 
a  bad  thing  ?  Life  is  neither  good  nor  bad  it  is 
just  what  we  make  it,  and  the  result  of  the  way  in 
which  we  look  at  it.  Joy  is  as  real  as  sorrow,  and  a 
very  fertile  source  of  action.  What  inspiration 
there  is  in  the  laugh  of  a  great  man  Let  us  welcome, 
therefore,  the  sparkling  if  transient  gaiety  of 
Siegfried. 

Wagner  wrote  to  Malwida  von  Meysenbug :  "I 
have,  by  chance,  just  been  reading  Plutarch's  life 
of  Timoleon.  That  life  ended  very  happily — a  rare 
and  unheard-of  thing,  especially  in  history.  It  does 
one  good  to  think  that  such  a  thing  is  possible.  It 
moved  me  profoundly." 

I  feel  the  same  when  I  hear  Siegfried.  We  are 
rarely  allowed  to  contemplate  happiness  in  great 
tragic  art ;  but  when  we  may,  how  splendid  it  is, 
and  how  good  for  one  I 


90  MUSICIANS    OF    TO-DAY 


TRISTAN 

Tristan  towers  like  a  mountain  above  all  other 
love  poems,  as  Wagner  above  all  other  artists  of  his 
century.  It  is  the  outcome  of  a  sublime  conception, 
though  the  work  as  a  whole  is  far  from  perfect.  Of 
perfect  works  there  is  none  where  Wagner  is  con- 
cerned. The  effort  necessary  for  the  creation  of 
them  was  too  great  to  be  long  sustained  ;  for  a  single 
work  might  means  years  of  toil.  And  the  tense 
emotions  of  a  whole  drama  cannot  be  expressed  by 
a  series  of  sudden  inspirations  put  into  form  the 
moment  they  are  conceived.  Long  and  arduous 
labour  is  necessary.  These  giants,  fashioned  like 
Michelangelo's,  these  concentrated  tempests  of 
heroic  force  and  decadent  complexity,  are  not 
arrested,  like  the  work  of  a  sculptor  or  painter,  in 
one  moment  of  their  action  ;  they  live  and  go  on 
living  in  endless  detail  of  sensation.  To  expect 
sustained  inspiration  is  to  expect  what  is  not  human. 
Genius  may  reveal  w^hat  is  divine  ;  it  may  call  up 
and  catch  a  glimpse  of  die  Mutter,  but  it  cannot  always 
breathe  in  the  exhausted  air  of  this  world.  So  will 
must  sometimes  take  the  place  of  inspiration ; 
though  the  will  is  uncertain  and  often  stumbles  in 
its  task.  That  is  why  we  encounter  things  that  jar 
and  jolt  in  the  greatest  works — they  are  the  marks 
of  human  weakness.     Well,  perhaps  there  is  less 

90 


WAGNER  91 

weakness  in  Tristan  than  in  Wagner's  other  dramas 
— Goiter ddmmerung,  for  instance — for  nowhere  else 
is  the  effort  of  his  genius  more  strenuous  or  its  flight 
more  dizzy.  Wagner  himself  knew  it  well.  His 
letters  show  the  despair  of  a  soul  wrestling  with  its 
familiar  spirit,  which  it  clutches  and  holds,  only  to 
lose  again.  And  we  seem  to  hear  cries  of  pain,  and 
feel  his  anger  and  despair. 

"  I  can  never  tell  you  what  a  really  wretched 
musician  I  am.  In  my  inmost  heart  I  know  I  am 
a  bungler  and  an  absolute  failure.  You  should 
see  me  when  I  say  to  myself, '  It  ought  to  go  now,' 
and  sit  down  to  the  piano  and  put  together  some 
miserable  rubbish,  which  I  fling  away  again  like 
an  idiot.  I  know  quite  well  the  kind  of  musical 
trash  I  produce.  .  .  .  Believe  me,  it  is  no  good 
expecting  me  to  do  anything  decent.  Sometimes 
I  really  think  it  was  Reissiger  who  inspired  me  to 
write  Tannhdiiser  and  Lohengrin.'' 

This  is  how  Wagner  wrote  to  Liszt  when  he  was 
finishing  this  amazing  work  of  art.  In  the  same 
way  Michelangelo  wrote  to  his  father  in  1509  :  "I 
am  in  agony.  I  have  not  dared  to  ask  the  Pope  for 
anything,  because  my  work  does  not  make  sufficient 
progress  to  merit  any  remuneration.  The  work  is 
too  difficult,  and  indeed  it  is  not  my  profession.  I 
am  wasting  my  time  to  no  purpose.  Heaven  help 
me  !  "  For  a  year  he  had  been  workirbg  at  the 
ceiling  of  the  Sixtine  chapel. 

This  is  something  more  than  a  burst  of  modesty. 


92  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

No  one  had  more  pride  than  Michelangelo  or  Wagner ; 
but  both  felt  the  defects  of  their  work  like  a  sharp 
wound.  And  although  those  defects  do  not  prevent 
their  works  from  being  the  glory  of  the  human 
spirit,  they  are  there  just  the  same. 

I  do  not  want  to  dwell  upon  the  inherent  imper- 
fections of  Wagner's  dramas ;  they  are  really 
dramatic  or  epic  symphonies,  impossible  to  act,  and 
gaining  nothing  from  representation.  This  is 
especially  true  of  Tristan,  where  the  disparity 
between  the  storm  of  sentiment  depicted,  and  the 
cold  convention  and  enforced  timidity  of  action  on 
the  stage,  is  such  that  at  certain  moments — in  the 
second  act,  for  example — it  pains  and  shocks  one, 
and  seems  almost  grotesque. 

But  while  admitting  that  Tristan  is  a  symphony 
that  is  not  suitable  for  representation,  one  also 
recognises  its  blemishes  and,  above  all,  its  uneven- 
ness.  The  orchestration  in  the  first  act  is  often 
rather  thin,  and  the  plot  lacks  sohdity.  There  are 
gaps  and  unaccountable  holes,  and  melodious  lines 
left  suspended  in  space.  From  beginning  to  end, 
lyrical  bursts  of  melody  are  broken  by  declamations, 
or,  what  is  worse,  by  dissertations.  Frenzied 
whirlwinds  of  passion  stop  suddenly  to  give  place 
to  recitatives  of  explanation  or  argument.  And 
although  these  recitatives  are  nearly  always  a  great 
relief,  although  these  metaphysical  reveries  have  a 
character  of  barbarous  cunning  that  one  relishes, 
yet  the  superior  beauty  of  the  movements  of  pure 
poetry,  emotion,  and  music  is  so  evident,  that  this 
musical  and  philosophical  drama  serves  to  give  one 


WAGNER  93 

a  distaste  for  philosophy  and  drama  and  every- 
thing else  that  cramps  and  confines  music. 

But  the  musical  part  of  Tristan  is  not  free  either 
from  the  faults  of  the  work  as  a  whole,  for  it,  too, 
lacks  unity.  Wagner's  music  is  made  up  of  very 
diverse  styles  :  one  finds  in  it  Italianisms  and  Ger- 
manisms and  even  GalHcisms  of  every  kind  ;  there 
are  some  that  are  sublime,  some  that  are  common- 
place ;  and  at  times  one  feels  the  awkwardness  of 
their  union  and  the  imperfections  of  their  form. 
Then  again,  perhaps  two  ideas  of  equal  originality 
come  together  and  spoil  each  other  by  making  too 
strong  a  contrast.  The  fine  lamentation  of  King 
Mark — that  personification  of  a  knight  of  the  Grail 
—is  treated  with  such  moderation  and  with  so 
noble  a  scorn  for  outward  show,  that  its  pure,  cold 
light  is  entirely  lost  after  the  glowing  fire  of  the 
duet. 

The  work  suffers  everywhere  from  a  lack  of 
balance.  It  is  an  almost  inevitable  defect,  arising 
from  its  very  grandeur.  A  mediocre  work  may 
quite  easily  be  perfect  of  its  kind ;  but  it  is  rarely 
that  a  work  of  lofty  aim  attains  perfection.  A  land- 
scape of  little  dells  and  smiling  meadows  is  brought 
more  readily  into  pleasing  harmony  than  a  land- 
scape of  dazzhng  Alps,  torrents,  glaciers,  and  tem- 
pests ;  for  the  heights  may  sometimes  overwhelm 
the  picture  and  spoil  the  effect.  And  so  it  is  with 
certain  great  pages  of  Tristan.  We  may  take  for 
example  the  verses  which  tell  of  excruciating  expec- 
tation— in  the  second  act,  Isolde's  expectation  on 
the  night  filled  with  desire  ;    and,  in  the  third  act. 


94  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Tristan's  expectation,  as  he  lies  wounded  and 
delirious,  waiting  for  the  vessel  that  brings  Isolde 
and  death — or  we  may  take  the  Prelude,  that 
expression  of  eternal  desire  that  is  like  a  restless 
sea  for  ever  moaning  and  beating  itself  upon  the 
shore. 


The  quality  that  touches  me  most  deeply  in 
Tristan  is  the  evidence  of  honesty  and  sincerity  in  a 
man  who  was  treated  by  his  enemies  as  a  charlatan 
that  used  superficial  and  grossly  material  means  to 
arrest  and  amaze  the  public  eye.  What  drama  is 
more  sober  or  more  disdainful  of  exterior  effect  than 
Tristan?  Its  restraint  is  almost  carried  to  excess. 
Wagner  rejected  any  picturesque  episode  in  it  that 
was  irrelevant  to  his  subject.  The  man  who  carried 
all  Nature  in  his  imagination,  who  at  his  will  made 
the  storms  of  the  Walkure  rage,  or  the  soft  light  of 
Good  Friday  shine,  would  not  even  depict  a  bit  of 
the  sea  round  the  vessel  in  the  first  act.  Believe  me, 
that  must  have  been  a  sacrifice,  though  he  wished 
it  so.  It  pleased  him  to  enclose  this  terrible  drama 
within  the  four  walls  of  a  chamber  of  tragedy.  There 
are  hardly  any  choruses  ;  there  is  nothing  to  distract 
one's  attention  from  the  mystery  of  human  souls  ; 
there  are  only  two  real  parts — those  of  the  lovers ; 
and  if  there  is  a  third,  it  belongs  to  Destiny,  into 
whose  hands  the  victims  are  delivered.  What  a  fine 
seriousness  there  is  in  this  love  play.  Its  passion 
remains  sombre  and  stern  ;  there  is  no  laughter  in 
it,  only  a  belief  which  is  almost  religious,  more 


WAGNER  95 

religious    perhaps    in    its    sincerity    than    that    of 

Parsifal. 

It  is  a  lesson  for  dramatists  to  see  a  man  supress- 
ing  all  frivolous  trifling  and  empty  episodes  in  order 
to  concentrate  his  subject  entirely  on  the  inner  life 
of  two  living  souls.  In  that  Wagner  is  our  master, 
a  better,  stronger,  and  more  profitable  master  to 
follow,  in  spite  of  his  mistakes,  than  all  the  other 
literary  and  dramatic  authors  of  his  time. 


I  see  that  criticism  has  filled  a  larger  place  in 
these  notes  than  I  micant  it  to  do.  But  in  spite  of 
that,  I  love  Tristan  ;  for  me  and  for  others  of  my 
time  it  has  long  been  an  intoxicating  draught.  And 
it  has  never  lost  anything  of  its  grandeur  ;  the 
years  have  left  its  beauty  untouched,  and  it  is  for 
me  the  highest  point  of  art  reached  by  anyone  since 
Beethoven's  death. 

But  as  I  was  listening  to  it  the  other  evening  I 
could  not  help  thinking  :  Ah,  Wagner,  you  will  one 
day  go  too,  and  join  Gluck  and  Bach  and  Monte- 
verde  and  Palestrina  and  all  the  great  souls  whose 
names  still  live  among  men,  but  whose  thoughts  are 
only  felt  by  a  handful  of  the  initiated,  who  try  in 
vain  to  revive  the  past.  You,  also,  are  already  of 
the  past,  though  you  were  the  steady  light  of  our 
youth,  the  strong  source  of  life  and  death,  of  desire 
and  renouncement,  whence  we  drew  our  moral  force 
and  our  power  of  resistance  against  the  world.  And 
the  world,  ever  greedy  for  new  sensations,  goes  on 
its  way  amid  the  unceasing  ebb  and  flow  of  its 


0  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

desires.  Already  its  thoughts  have  changed,  and 
new  musicians  are  making  new  songs  for  the  future. 
But  it  is  the  voice  of  a  century  of  tempest  that 
passes  with  you. 


CAMILLE    SAINT-SAENS 

M.  Saint-Saens  has  had  the  rare  honour  of  becom- 
ing a  classic  during  his  Hfetime.  His  name,  though 
it  was  long  unrecognised,  now  commands  universal 
respect,  not  less  by  his  worth  of  character  than  by 
the  perfection  of  his  art.  No  artist  has  troubled  so 
little  about  the  public,  or  been  more  indifferent  to 
criticism  whether  popular  or  expert.  As  a  child  he 
had  a  sort  of  physical  repulsion  for  outward  success  : 

"De  I'applaudissement 
J'entends  encor  le  bruit  qui,  chose  assez  etrange, 
Pour  ma  pudeur  d'enfant  ^tait  comme  une  fange 
Dont  le  flot  me  venait  toucher  ;  je  redoutais 
Son  contact,  et  parfois,  malin,  je  I'evitais, 
Affectant  la  raideur."  ^ 

Later  on,  he  achieved  success  by  a  long  and  painful 
struggle,  in  which  he  had  to  fight  against  the  kind 
of  stupid  criticism  that  condemned  him  "  to  listen 
to  one  of  Beethoven's  symphonies  as  a  penance 

^  Of  applause 
I  still  hear  the  noise  ;    and,  strangely  enough, 
In  my  childish  shyness  it  seemed  like  mire 
About  to  spot  me  ;    I  feared 
Its  touch,  and  secretly  shunned  it. 
Affecting  obstinacy. 

These  verses  were  read  by  M.  Saint-Saens  at  a  concert  given 
on  lo  June,  1896,  in  the  Salle  Pleyel,  to  celebrate  the  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  his  debut,  which  he  made  in  1846.  It  was  in  this 
same  Salle  Pleyel  that  he  gave  his  first  concert. 

H  97 


98  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

likely  to  give  him  the  most  excruciating  torture."  ^ 
And  yet  after  this,  and  after  his  admission  to  the 
Academy,  after  Henry  VIII  and  the  Symphonic 
avec  orgue,  he  still  remained  aloof  from  praise  or 
blame,  and  judged  his  triumphs  with  sad  severity  : 

"  Tu  connaitras  les  yeux  menteurs,  I'hypocrisie 
Des  serrements  de  mains, 
Le  masque  d'amitid  cachant  la  jalousie, 
Les  pales  lendemains 

"  De  ces  jours  de  triomphe  ou  le  troupeau  vulgaire 
Qui  pese  au  meme  poids 
L'histrion  ridicule  et  le  g6nie  austere 
Vous  mets  sur  le  pavois."  ^ 

M.  Saint-Saens  has  now  grown  old,  and  his  fame 
has  spread  abroad,  but  he  has  not  capitulated.  Not 
many  years  ago  he  wrote  to  a  German  journalist : 
"  I  take  very  little  notice  of  either  praise  or  censure, 
not  because  I  have  an  exalted  idea  of  my  own 
merits  (which  would  be  foolish),  but  because  in 
doing  my  work,  and  fulfilling  the  function  of  my 
nature,  as  an  apple-tree  grows  apples,  I  have  no 
need  to  trouble  myself  with  other  people's  views."  ^ 

^  C.  Saint-Saens,  Harmonie  et  Melodie,  1885. 

2  C.  Saint-Saens,  Rimes  familieres,  1890. 

You  will  know  the  lying  eyes,  the  insincerity 
Of  pressures  of  the  hand, 
The  mask  of  friendship  that  hides  jealousy, 
The  tame  to-morrows 

Of  these  days  of  triumph,  when  the  vulgar  herd 

Crowns  you  with  honour  ; 

Judging  rare  genius  to  be 

Equal  in  merit  to  the  wit  of  clowns. 

3  Letter  written  to  j\I.  Levin,  the  correspondent  of  the 
Boersen-Conriey  of  Berlin,  9  September,  1901. 


CAMILLE   SAINT-SAENS  99 

Such  independence  is  rare  at  any  time ;  but  it 
is  very  rare  in  our  day,  when  the  power  of  pubHc 
opinion  is  tyrannical ;  and  it  is  rarest  of  all  in 
France,  where  artists  are  perhaps  more  sociable 
than  in  other  countries.  Of  all  qualities  in  an  artist 
it  is  the  most  precious  ;  for  it  forms  the  foundation 
of  his  character,  and  is  the  guarantee  of  his  con- 
science and  innate  strength.  So  we  must  not  hide 
it  under  a  bushel. 


The  significance  of  M.  Saint-Saens  in  art  is  a 
double  one,  for  one  must  judge  him  from  the  inside 
as  well  as  the  outside  of  France.  He  stands  for 
something  exceptional  in  French  music,  something 
which  was  almost  unique  until  just  lately  :  that  is, 
a  great  classical  spirit  and  a  fine  breadth  of  musical 
culture — German  culture,  we  must  say,  since  the 
foundation  of  all  modern  art  rests  on  the  German 
classics.  French  music  of  the  nineteenth  century 
is  rich  in  clever  artists,  imaginative  writers  of 
melody,  and  skilful  dramatists  ;  but  it  is  poor  in 
true  musicians,  and  in  good  and  solid  workmanship. 
Apart  from  two  or  three  splendid  exceptions,  our 
composers  have  too  much  the  character  of  gifted 
amateurs  who  compose  music  as  a  pastime,  and 
regard  it,  not  as  a  special  form  of  thought,  but  as 
a  sort  of  dress  for  literary  ideas.  Our  musical 
education  is  superficial  :  it  may  be  got  for  a  few 
years,  in  a  formal  way,  at  a  Conservatoire,  but  it 
is  not  within  reach  of  all ;  the  child  does  not  breathe 
music  as,  in  a  way,  he  breathes  the  atmosphere  of 


100  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

literature  and  oratory  ;  and  although  nearly  every- 
one in  France  has  an  instinctive  feeling  for  beautiful 
writing,  only  a  very  few  people  care  for  beautiful 
music.  From  this  arise  the  common  faults  and 
failings  in  our  music.  It  has  remained  a  luxurious 
art ;  it  has  not  become,  like  German  music,  the 
poetical  expression  of  the  people's  thought. 

To  bring  this  about  we  should  need  a  combination 
of  conditions  that  are  very  rare  in  France  ;  though 
such  conditions  went  to  the  making  of  Camille 
Saint-Saens.  He  had  not  only  remarkable  natural 
talent,  but  came  of  a  family  of  ardent  musicians, 
who  devoted  themselves  to  his  education.  At  five 
years  of  age  he  was  nourished  on  the  orchestral 
score  of  Don  Juan  ;  ^  as  a  little  boy 

"  De  dix  ans,  delicat,  frele,  le  teint  jaunet, 
Mais  confiant,  naif,  plein  d'ardeur  et  de  joie,"  ^ 

he  "  measured  himself  against  Beethoven  and 
Mozart  "  by  playing  in  a  public  concert ;  at  sixteen 
years  of  age  he  wrote  his  Premiere  Symphonie.  As 
he  grew  older  he  soaked  himself  in  the  music  of  Bach 
and  Handel,  and  was  able  to  compose  at  will  after 
the  manner  of  Rossini,  Verdi,  Schumann,  and 
Wagner.  3  He  has  written  excellent  music  in  all 
styles — the  Grecian  style,  and  that  of  the  sixteenth, 
seventeenth,  and  eighteenth  centuries.  His  com- 
positions are  of  every  kind  :  masses,  grand  operas, 

1  C.  Saint-Saens,  Charles  Gounod  et  le  Don  Juan  de  Mozart, 
1894. 

2  But  ten  years  old,  slightly  built  and  pale. 

Yet  full  of  simple  confidence  and  joy  {Rimes  familUres). 

'  Charles  Gounod,  Menioires  d'un  Artiste,  1896. 


CAMILLE    SAINT-SAENS  lOI 

light  operas,  cantatas,  symphonies,  symphonic 
poems ;  music  for  the  orchestra,  the  organ,  the 
piano,  the  voice,  and  chamber  music.  He  is  the 
learned  editor  of  Gluck  and  Rameau  ;  and  is  thus 
not  only  an  artist,  but  an  artist  who  can  talk  about 
his  art.  He  is  an  unusual  figure  in  France — one 
would  have  thought  rather  to  find  his  home  in 
Germany. 

In  Germany,  however,  they  make  no  mistake 
about  him.  There,  the  name  of  Camille  Saint-Saens 
stands  for  the  French  classical  spirit,  and  is  thought 
worthiest  to  represent  us  in  music  from  the  time  of 
Berlioz  until  the  appearance  of  the  young  school  of 
Cesar  Franck — though  Franck  himself  is  as  yet 
little  known  in  Germany.  M.  Saint-Saens  possesses, 
indeed,  some  of  the  best  qualities  of  a  French  artist, 
and  among  them  the  most  important  quality  of  all 
—perfect  clearness  of  conception.  It  is  remarkable 
how  little  this  learned  artist  is  bothered  by  his 
learning,  and  how  free  he  is  from  all  pedantry. 
Pedantry  is  the  plague  of  German  art,  and  the 
greatest  men  have  not  escaped  it.  I  am  not  speaking 
of  Brahms,  who  was  ravaged  with  it,  but  of  delight- 
ful geniuses  like  Schumann,  or  of  powerful  ones  like 
Bach.  "  This  unnatural  art  wearies  one  like  the 
sanctimonious  salon  of  some  little  provincial  town  ; 
it  stifles  one,  it  is  enough  to  kill  one."^  "  Saint- 
Saens  is  not  a  pedant,"  wrote  Gounod;  "he  has 

1  Quoted  from  Saint-Saens  by  Edmond  Hippeau  in  Henry 
VIII  et  L' Opera  franQuis,  1883.  I\I.  Saint-Saens  speaks  else- 
where of  "  these  works,  well  written,  but  heavy  and  unattractive, 
and  reflecting  in  a  tiresome  way  the  narrow  and  pedantic  spirit 
of  certain  little  towns  in  Germany  "  (Harmonie  et  Melodic). 


102  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

remained  too  much  of  a  child  and  become  too  clever 
for  that."  Besides,  he  has  always  been  too  much  of 
a  Frenchman. 

Sometimes  Saint-Saens  reminds  me  of  one  of  our 
eighteenth-century  writers.  Not  a  writer  of  the 
Encyclopedie,  nor  one  of  Rousseau's  camp,  but  rather 
of  Voltaire's  school.  He  has  a  clearness  of  thought, 
an  elegance  and  precision  of  expression,  and  a  quality 
of  mind  that  make  his  music  "  not  only  noble,  but 
very  noble,  as  coming  of  a  fine  race  and  distinguished 
family."  ^ 

He  has  also  excellent  discernment,  of  an  un- 
emotional kind  ;  and  he  is  "  calm  in  spirit,  re- 
strained in  imagination,  and  keeps  his  self-control 
even  in  the  midst  of  the  most  disturbing  emotions."  ^ 
This  discernment  is  the  enemy  of  anything  approach- 
ing obscurity  of  thought  or  mysticism  ;  and  its 
outcome  w^as  that  curious  book,  Problemes  et 
Mysteres — a  misleading  title,  for  the  spirit  of  reason 
reigns  there  and  makes  an  appeal  to  young  people 
to  protect  "  the  light  of  a  menaced  world  "  against 
"  the  mists  of  the  North,  Scandinavian  gods,  Indian 
divinities,  Catholic  miracles,  Lourdes,  spiritualism, 
occultism,  and  obscurantism. "^ 

His  love  and  need  of  liberty  is  also  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century.  One  may  say  that  liberty  is  his 
only  passion.  "  I  am  passionately  fond  of  liberty," 
he  wrote.*    And  he  has  proved  it  by  the  absolute 

^  Charles  Gounod,  "  Ascanio  "  de  Saint-SaHns,  1890. 

2  Id.,  ibid. 

3  C.  Saint-Saens,  ProhUmes  et  MysUres,  1894. 
*  Harmonie  et  Melodie. 


CAMILLE    SAINT-SAENS  IO3 

fearlessness  of  his  judgments  on  art ;  for  not  only 
has  he  reasoned  soundly  against  Wagner,  but  dared 
to  criticise  the  weaknesses  of  Gluck  and  Mozart, 
the  errors  of  Weber  and  Berlioz,  and  the  accepted 
opinions  about  Gounod  ;  and  this  classicist,  who 
was  nourished  on  Bach,  goes  so  far  as  to  say:  "The 
performance  of  works  by  Bach  and  Handel  to-day 
is  an  idle  amusement,"  and  that  those  who  wish  to 
revive  their  art  are  like  "  people  who  would  live  in 
an  old  mansion  that  has  been  uninhabited  for  cen- 
turies."^ He  went  even  further;  he  criticised  his 
own  work  and  contradicted  his  own  opinions.  His 
love  of  liberty  made  him  form,  at  different  periods, 
different  opinions  of  the  same  work.  He  thought 
that  people  had  a  right  to  change  their  opinions,  as 
sometimes  they  deceived  themselves.  It  seemed  to 
him  better  boldly  to  admit  an  error  than  to  be  the 
slave  of  consistency.  And  this  same  feeling  showed 
itself  in  other  matters  besides  art  :  in  ethics,  as  is 
shown  by  some  verses  which  he  addressed  to  a 
young  friend,  urging  him  not  to  be  bound  by  a  too 
rigid  austerity  : 

"  Je  sens  qu'une  triste  chimere 
A  toujours  assombri  ton  ame  :  la  Vertu.  .  .  ."  ^ 

and  in  metaphysics  also,  where  he  judges  rehgions, 
faith,  and  the  Gospels  with  a  quiet  freedom  of 
thought,  seeking  in  Nature  alone  the  basis  of  morals 
and  society. 

^  C.  Saint-Saens,  Portraits  et  Souvenirs,  1900. 

2  I  know  that  a  vain  dream  of  virtue 
Has  always  Ccist  a  shadow  on  your  soul  {Rimes  Jamilieres). 


104  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

Here  are  some  of  his  opinions,  taken  at  random 
from  Problemes  et  Mysteres  : 

"  As  science  advances,  God  recedes." 

"  The  soul  is  only  a  medium  for  the  expression 

of  thought." 

"  The  discouragement  of  work,  the  weakening 

of  character,  the  sharing  of  one's  goods  under 

pain  of  death — this  is  the  Gospel  teaching  on  the 

foundation  of  society." 

"  The  Christian  virtues  are  not  social  virtues." 
"  Nature  is  without  aim  :    she  is  an  endless 

circle,  and  leads  us  nowhere." 

His  thoughts  are  unfettered  and  full  of  love  for 
humanity  and  a  sense  of  the  responsibility  of  the 
individual.  He  called  Beethoven  "  the  greatest, 
the  only  really  great  artist,"  because  he  upheld  the 
idea  of  universal  brotherhood.  His  mind  is  so  com- 
prehensive that  he  has  written  books  on  philosophy, 
on  the  theatre,  on  classical  painting,^  as  well  as 
scientific  essays, ^  volumes  of  verse,  and  even  plays. ^ 
He  has  been  able  to  take  up  all  sorts  of  things,  I  will 
not  say  with  equal  skill,  but  with  discernment  and 
undeniable  ability.  He  shows  a  type  of  mind  rare 
among  artists  and,  above  all,  among  musicians. 
The  two  principles  that  he  enunciates  and  himself 

^  C.  Saint-Saens,  N'ote  suy  les  decors  de  theatre  dans  I'antiquiti 
romaine,  1880,  where  he  discusses  the  mural  paintings  of  Pompeii. 

2  Lecture  on  thje  Phenomena  of  Mirages,  given  to  the  As- 
tronomical Society  of  France  in  1905. 

3  C.  Saint-Saens,  La  Crampe  des  Acrivains,  a  comedy  in  one 
act,  1892. 


CAMILLE   SAINT-SAENS  I05 

follows  out  are  :  "  Keep  free  from  all  exaggeration  " 
and  "  Preserve  the  soundness  of  your  mind's 
health."  ^  They  are  certainly  not  the  principles  of 
a  Beethoven  or  a  Wagner,  and  it  would  be  rather 
difficult  to  find  a  noted  musician  of  the  last  century 
who  had  applied  them.  They  tell  us,  without  need 
of  comment,  what  is  distinctive  about  M.  Saint- 
Saens,  and  what  is  defective  in  him.  He  is  not 
troubled  by  any  sort  of  passion.  Nothing  disturbs 
the  clearness  of  his  reason.  "  He  has  no  prejudices  ; 
he  takes  no  side"^ — one  might  add,  not  even  his 
own,  since  he  is  not  afraid  to  change  his  views — 
"  he  does  not  pose  as  a  reformer  of  anything  "  ;  he 
is  altogether  independent,  perhaps  almost  too  much 
so.  He  seems  sometimes  as  if  he  did  not  know  what 
to  do  with  his  liberty.  Goethe  would  have  said,  I 
think,  that  he  needed  a  little  more  of  the  devil  in 
him. 

His  m.ost  characteristic  mental  trait  seems  to  be 
a  languid  melancholy,  which  has  its  source  in  a 
rather  bitter  feeling  of  the  futility  of  hfe;^  and  this 
is  accompanied  by  fits  of  weariness  which  are  not 
altogether  healthy,  followed  by  capricious  moods 
and  nervous  gaiety,  and  a  freakish  liking  for  bur- 
lesque and  mimicry.  It  is  his  eager,  restless  spirit 
that  makes  him  rush  about  the  world  writing  Breton 
and  Auvergnian  rhapsodies,  Persian  songs,  Algerian 
suites,  Portuguese  barcarolles,  Danish,  Russian,  or 
Arabian  caprices,  souvenirs  of  Italy,  African  fan- 


^  Harmonie  et  Melodic. 

2  Charles  Gounod,  Memoires  d'un  Artiste. 

3  Les  Heures  ;    Mors  ;    Modestie  {Rimes  familieres). 


106  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

tasias,  and  Egyptian  concertos  ;  and,  in  the  same 
way,  he  roams  through  the  ages,  writing  Greek 
tragedies,  dance  music  of  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries,  and  preludes  and  fugues  of  the 
eighteenth.  But  in  all  these  exotic  and  archaic 
reflections  of  times  and  countries  through  which  his 
fancy  wanders,  one  recognises  the  gay,  intelligent 
countenance  of  a  Frenchman  on  his  travels,  who 
idly  follows  his  inclinations,  and  does  not  trouble 
to  enter  very  deeply  into  the  spirit  of  the  people 
he  meets,  but  gleans  all  he  can,  and  then  reproduces 
it  with  a  French  complexion — after  the  manner  of 
Montaigne  in  Italy,  who  compared  Verona  to 
Poitiers,  and  Padua  to  Bordeaux,  and  who,  when 
he  was  in  Florence,  paid  much  less  attention  to 
Michelangelo  than  to  "a  very  strangely  shaped 
sheep,  and  an  animal  the  size  of  a  large  mastiff, 
shaped  like  a  cat  and  striped  with  black  and  white, 
which  they  called  a  tiger." 

From  a  purely  musical  point  of  view  there  is  some 
resemblance  between  M.  Saint-Saens  and  Mendels- 
sohn. In  both  of  them  we  find  the  same  intellectual 
restraint,  the  same  balance  preserved  among  the 
heterogeneous  elements  of  their  work.  These  ele- 
ments are  not  common  to  both  of  them,  because  the 
time,  the  country,  and  the  surroundings  in  which 
they  lived  are  not  the  same  ;  and  there  is  also  a 
great  difference  in  their  characters.  Mendelssohn 
is  more  ingenuous  and  religious  ;  M.  Saint-Saens  is 
more  of  a  dilettante  and  more  sensuous.  They  are 
not  so  much  kindred  spirits  by  their  science  as  good 
company  by  a  common  purity  of  taste,  a  sense  of 


CAMILLE   SAINT-SAENS  I07 

rhythm,  and  a  genius  for  method,  which  gave  all 
they  wrote  a  neo-classic  character. 

As  for  the  things  that  directly  influenced  M. 
Saint-Saens,  they  are  so  numerous  that  it  would  be 
difficult  and  rather  bold  of  me  to  pretend  to  be  able 
to  pick  them  out.  His  remarkable  capacity  for 
assimilation  has  often  moved  him  to  write  in  the 
style  of  Wagner  or  Berlioz,  of  Handel  or  Rameau, 
of  Lulli  or  Charpentier,  or  even  of  some  English  harp- 
sichord or  clavichord  player  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
like  William  Byrd — whose  airs  are  introduced  quite 
naturally  in  the  music  of  Henry  VIII ;  but  we  must 
remembei  that  these  are  deliberate  imitations,  the 
amusements  of  a  virtuoso,  about  which  M.  Saint- 
Saens  never  deceives  himself.  His  memory  serves 
him  as  he  pleases,  but  he  is  never  troubled  by  it. 

As  far  as  one  can  judge,  M.  Saint-Saens'  musical 
ideas  are  infused  with  the  spirit  of  the  great  classics 
belonging  to  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century — 
far  more,  whatever  people  may  say,  with  the  spirit 
of  Beethoven,  Haydn,  and  Mozart,  than  with  the 
spirit  of  Bach.  Schumann's  seductiveness  also  left 
its  mark  upon  him,  and  he  has  felt  the  influence  of 
Gounod,  Bizet,  and  Wagner.  But  a  stronger  influence 
was  that  of  Berlioz,  his  friend  and  master,^  and, 
above  all,  that  of  Liszt.  We  must  stop  at  this  last 
name. 

M.  Saint-Saens  has  good  reason  for  liking  Liszt, 
for  Liszt  was  also  a  lover  of  freedom,  and  had  shaken 
off  traditions  and  pedantry,  and  scorned  German 

1  "  Thanks  to  Berlioz,  all  my  generation  has  been  shaped 
and  well  shaped  "  {Portraits  et  Souvenirs). 


I08  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

routine;  and  he  liked  him,  too,  because  his  music 
was  a  reaction  from  the  stiff  school  of  Brahms. ^  He 
was  enthusiastic  about  Liszt's  work,  and  was  one 
of  the  earhest  and  most  ardent  champions  of  that 
new  music  of  which  Liszt  was  the  leading  spirit — 
of  that  "  programme "  music  which  Wagner's 
triumph  seemed  to  have  nipped  in  the  bud,  but 
which  has  suddenly  and  gloriously  burst  into  life 
again  in  the  works  of  Richard  Strauss.  "  Liszt  is 
one  of  the  great  composers  of  our  time,"  wrote 
M.  Saint-Saens;  "he  has  dared  more  than  either 
Weber,  or  Mendelssohn,  or  Schubert,  or  Schumann. 
He  has  created  the  symphonic  poem.  He  is  the 
dehverer  of  instrumental  music.  ...  He  has  pro- 
claimed the  reign  of  free  music."  ^  This  was  not 
said  impulsively  in  a  moment  of  enthusiasm ; 
M.  Saint-Saens  has  always  held  this  opinion.  Ail 
his  life  he  has  remained  faithful  to  his  admiration 
of  Liszt — since  1858,  when  he  dedicated  a  Veni 
Creator  to  "  the  Abbe  Liszt,"  until  1886,  when,  a 
few  months  after  Liszt's  death,  he  dedicated  his 
masterpiece,  the  Symphonie  avec  orgtie,  "  To  the 
memory  of  Franz  Liszt."  ^  "People  have  not 
hesitated  to  scoff  at  what  they  call  my  weakness 


'  "  I  like  Liszt's  music  so  much,  because  he  does  not  bother 
about  other  people's  opinions  ;  he  says  what  he  wants  to  say  ; 
and  the  only  thing  that  he  troubles  about  is  to  say  it  as  well  as 
he  possibly  can  "  (Quoted  by  Hippeau). 

2  The  quotations  are  taken  from  Harmonie  et  Melodie  and 
Portraits  et  Souvenirs. 

3  In  Harmonie  et  Melodie  M.  Saint-Saens  tells  us  that  he 
organised  and  directed  a  concert  in  the  Theatre-Italien  where 
only  Liszt's  compositions  were  played.  But  all  his  efforts  to 
make  the  French  musical  public  appreciate  Liszt  were  a  failure. 


CAMILLE    SAINT-SAENS  lOQ 

for  Liszt's  works.  But  even  if  the  feelings  of  affec- 
tion and  gratitude  that  he  inspired  in  me  did  come 
Hke  a  prism  and  interpose  themselves  between  my 
eyes  and  his  face,  I  do  not  see  anything  greatly 
to  be  regretted  in  it.^  I  had  not  yet  felt  the  charm 
of  his  personal  fascination,  I  had  neither  heard  nor 
seen  him,  and  I  did  not  owe  him  anything  at  all, 
when  my  interest  w^as  gripped  in  reading  his  first 
symphonic  poems  ;  and  when  later  they  pointed 
the  way  which  was  to  lead  to  La  Danse  macabre,  Le 
Ro'uei  d'Omphale,  and  other  works  of  the  same  nature, 
I  am  sure  that  my  judgment  was  not  biassed  by  any 
prejudice  in  his  favour,  and  that  I  alone  was  respon- 
sible for  what  I  did."  ^ 

This  influence  seems  to  me  to  explain  some  of 
M.  Saint-Saens'  work.  Not  only  is  this  influence 
evident  in  his  symphonic  poems — some  of  his  best 
work — but  it  IS  to  be  found  in  his  suites  for  orchestra, 
his  fantasias,  and  his  rhapsodies,  where  the  descrip- 
tive and  narrative  element  is  strong.  "  Music 
should  charm  unaided,"  said  M.  Saint-Saens;  "but 
its  effect  is  much  finer  when  we  use  our  imagination 
and  let  it  flow  in  some  particular  channel,  thus 

^  The  admiration  was  mutual.  M.  Saint-Saens  even  said 
that  without  Liszt  he  coiild  not  have  written  Samson  et  Dalila. 
"  Not  only  did  Liszt  have  Samson  et  Dalila  performed  at  Weimar, 
but  without  him  that  work  would  never  have  come  into  being. 
My  suggestions  on  the  subject  had  met  with  such  hostility  that 
I  had  given  up  the  idea  of  writing  it  ;  and  all  that  existed  were 
some  illegible  notes.  .  .  .  Then  at  Weimar  one  day  I  spoke  to 
Liszt  about  it,  and  he  said  to  me,  quite  trustingly  and  without 
having  heard  a  note,  '  Finish  your  work  ;  I  will  have  it  per- 
formed here.'  The  events  of  1870  delayed  its  performance  for 
several  years  "  {Revue  Musicale,  8  November,  1901). 

2  Portraits  et  Souvenirs. 


no  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

imaging  the  music.  It  is  then  that  all  the  faculties 
of  the  soul  are  brought  into  play  for  the  same  end. 
What  art  gains  from  this  is  not  greater  beauty,  but 
a  wider  field  for  its  scope — that  is,  a  greater  variety 
of  form  and  a  larger  liberty."  ^ 


And  so  we  find  that  M.  Saint-Saens  has  taken  part 
in  the  vigorous  attempt  of  modern  German  symphony 
writers  to  bring  into  music  some  of  the  power  of  the 
other  arts  :  poetry,  painting,  philosophy,  romance, 
drama — the  whole  of  life.  But  what  a  gulf  divides 
them  and  him !  A  gulf  made  up,  not  only  of  diversi- 
ties of  style,  but  of  the  difference  between  two  races 
and  two  w^orlds.  Beside  the  frenzied  outpourings  of 
Richard  Strauss,  who  flounders  uncertainly  between 
mud  and  debris  and  genius,  the  Latin  art  of  Saint- 
Saens  rises  up  calm  and  ironical.  His  delicacy  of 
touch,  his  careful  moderation,  his  happy  grace, 
"  w^hich  enters  the  soul  by  a  thousand  little  paths,"  ^ 
bring  with  them  the  pleasures  of  beautiful  speech 
and  honest  thought ;  and  we  cannot  but  feel  their 
charm.  Compared  with  the  restless  and  troubled 
art  of  to-day,  his  music  strikes  us  by  its  calm,  its 
tranquil  harmonies,  its  velvety  modulations,  its 
crystal  clearness,  its  smooth  and  flowing  style,  and 
an  elegance  that  cannot  be  put  into  words.  Even 
his  classic  coldness  does  us  good  by  its  reaction 
against  the  exaggerations,  sincere  as  they  are,  of 
the  new  school.     At  times  one  feels  oneself  carried 

^  Harmonie  et  Melodie. 

2  C-  Saiot-Saens,  Portraits  et  Souvenirs, 


CAMILLE    SAINT-SAENS  III 

back  to  ]\Iendelssohn,  even  to  Spontini  and  the 
school  of  Gluck.  One  seems  to  be  travelHng  in  a 
country  that  one  knows  and  loves  ;  and  yet  in 
M.  Saint-Saens'  works  one  does  not  find  any  direct 
resemblance  to  the  works  of  other  composers  ;  for 
with  no  one  are  reminiscences  rarer  than  with  this 
master  who  carries  all  the  old  masters  in  his  mind — 
it  is  his  spirit  that  is  akin  to  theirs.  And  that  is  the 
secret  of  his  personality  and  his  value  to  us  ;  he 
brings  to  our  artistic  unrest  a  little  of  the  light  and 
sweetness  of  other  times.  His  compositions  are  like 
fragments  of  another  world. 

"  From  time  to  time,"  he  said,  in  speaking  of 
Don  Giovanni,  "  in  the  sacred  earth  of  Hellene  we 
find  a  fragment,  an  arm,  the  debris  of  a  torso, 
scratched  and  damaged  by  the  ravages  of  time  ;  it 
is  only  the  shadow  of  the  god  that  the  sculptor's 
chisel  once  created  ;  but  the  charm  is  somehow 
still  there,  the  sublime  style  is  radiant  in  spite  of 
everything."  ^ 

And  so  with  this  music.  It  is  sometimes  a  little 
pale,  a  little  too  restrained  ;  but  in  a  phrase,  in  a 
few  harmonies,  there  will  shine  out  a  clear  vision  of 
the  past. 

*  Portraits  et  Souvenirs. 


VINCENT    DTNDY 

"  I  CONSIDER  that  criticism  is  useless,  I  would 
even  say  that  it  is  harmful.  .  .  .  Criticism  gener- 
ally means  the  opinion  some  man  or  other  holds 
about  another  person's  work.  How  can  that 
opinion  help  forward  the  growth  of  art  ?  It  is 
interesting  to  know  the  ideas,  even  the  erroneous 
ideas,  of  geniuses  and  men  of  great  talent,  such 
as  Goethe,  Schumann,  Wagner,  Sainte-Beuve, 
and  Michelet,  when  they  wish  to  indulge  in  criti- 
cism ;  but  it  is  of  no  interest  at  all  to  know 
vvhether  Mr.  So-and-so  likes,  or  does  not  like, 
such-and-such  dramatic  or  musical  work."  ^ 

So  writes  M.  Vincent  dTndy. 

After  such  an  expression  of  opinion  one  imagines 
that  a  critic  ought  to  feel  some  embarrassment  in 
writing  about  M.  Vincent  d'Indy.  And  I  myself 
ought  to  be  the  more  concerned  in  the  matter,  for 
in  the  number  of  the  review  where  the  above 
was  written  the  only  other  opinions  expressed  with 
equal  conviction  belonged  to  the  author  of  this 
book.  There  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done — to  copy 
M.  dTndy 's  example  ;  for  that  forsworn  enemy  of 
criticism  is  himself  a  keen  critic. 

^   Revue  d'Art  dramatique,  5  February,  1899. 
112 


VINCENT   d'iNDY 


113 


It  is  not  altogether  on  M.  d'Indy's  musical  gifts 
that  I  want  to  dwell.  It  is  known  that  in  Europe 
to-day  he  is  one  of  the  masters  of  dramatic  musical 
expression,  of  orchestral  colouring,  and  of  the  science 
of  style.  But  that  is  not  the  end  of  his  attainments  ; 
he  has  artistic  originality,  which  springs  from  some- 
thing deeper  still.  When  an  artist  has  some  worth, 
you  will  find  it  not  only  in  his  work  but  in  his  being. 
So  we  will  endeavour  to  explore  M.  d'Indy's  being. 

M.  d'Indy's  personality  is  not  a  mysterious  one. 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  open  and  clear  as  daylight ; 
and  we  see  this  in  his  musical  work,  in  his  artistic 
activities,  and  in  his  writings.  To  his  own  writings 
we  may  apply  the  exception  of  his  rule  about  criti- 
cism in  favour  of  a  small  number  of  men  whose 
thoughts  are  interesting  even  when  they  are  erroneous. 
It  would  be  a  pity  indeed  not  to  know  M.  d'Indy's 
thoughts — even  the  erroneous  ones ;  for  they  let  us 
catch  a  glimpse,  not  only  of  the  ideas  of  an  eminent 
artist,  but  of  certain  surprising  characteristics  of  the 
thought  of  our  time.  M.  d'Indy  has  closely  studied 
the  history  of  his  art ;  but  the  chief  interest  of  his 
writings  lies  rather  in  their  unconscious  expression 
of  the  spirit  of  modern  art  than  in  what  they  tell  us 
about  the  past. 

M.  d'Indy  is  not  a  man  hedged  in  by  the  boun- 
daries of  his  art ;  his  mind  is  open  and  well  fertilised. 
Musicians  nowadays  are  no  longer  entirely  absorbed 
in  their  notes,  but  let  their  minds  go  out  to  other 
interests.  And  it  is  not  one  of  the  least  interesting 
phenomena  of  French  music  to-day  that  gives  us 
these  learned  and  thoughtful  composers,  who  are 


114  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

conscious  of  what  they  create,  and  bring  to  their 
art  a  keen  critical  faculty,  like  that  of  M.  Saint-Saens, 
M.  Dukas,  or  M.  d'Indy.  From  M.  d'Indy  we  have 
had  scholarly  editions  of  Rameau,  Destouches,  and 
Salomon  de  Rossi.  Even  in  the  middle  of  rehearsals 
of  U Stranger  at  Brussels  he  was  working  at  a  recon- 
struction of  Monteverde's  Orfeo.  He  has  published 
selections  of  folksongs  with  critical  notes,  essays  on 
Beethoven's  predecessors,  a  history  of  Musical 
Composition,  and  debates  and  lectures.  This  fine 
intellectual  culture  is  not,  however,  the  most 
remarkable  of  M.  d'Indy's  characteristics,  though 
it  may  have  been  the  most  remarked.  Other 
musicians  share  this  culture  with  him  ;  and  his  real 
distinction  lies  in  his  moral  and  almost  religious 
qualities,  and  it  is  this  side  of  him  that  gives  him 
an  unusual  interest  for  us  among  other  contem- 
porary artists. 


"  Maneant  in  vobis  Fides,  Spes,  Caritas. 
Tria  haec  :  major  autem  horum  est  Caritas. 

"  An  artist  must  have  at  least  Faith,  faith  in 
God  and  faith  in  his  art ;  for  it  is  Faith  that  dis- 
poses him  to  learn,  and  by  his  learning  to  raise 
himself  higher  and  higher  on  the  ladder  of  Being, 
up  to  his  goal,  which  is  God. 

"  An  artist  should  practise  Hope  ;  for  he  can 
expect  nothing  from  the  present  ;  he  knows  that 
his  mission  is  to  serve,  and  to  give  his  work  for 
the  life  and  teaching  of  the  generations  that  shall 
come  after  him. 


VINCENT   D  INDY  IT5 

"  An  artist  should  be  inspired  by  a  splendid 
Charity — '  the  greatest  of  these.'  To  love  should 
be  his  aim  in  life  ;  for  the  moving  principle  of  all 
creation  is  divine  and  charitable  Love." 

Who  speaks  like  this  ?  Is  it  the  monk  Denys  in 
his  cell  at  Mount  Athos  ?  Or  Cennini,  who  spread 
the  pious  teaching  of  the  Giotteschi  ?  Or  one  of 
the  old  painters  of  Sienna,  who  in  their  profession 
of  faith  called  themselves  "  by  the  grace  of  God, 
those  who  manifest  marvellous  things  to  common 
and  illiterate  men,  by  the  virtue  of  the  holy  faith, 
and  to  its  glory  "  ? 

No ;  it  was  the  director  of  the  Schola  Cantorum, 
addressing  the  students  in  an  inaugural  speech,  or 
giving  them  a  lecture  on  Composition. ^ 

We  must  consider  a  little  this  singular  book, 
where  a  living  science  and  a  Gothic  spirit  are 
closely  intermingled  (I  use  the  word  "  Gothic  "  in 
its  best  sense  ;  I  know  it  is  the  highest  praise  one 
can  give  M.  dlndy).  This  work  has  not  received 
the  attention  it  deserves.  It  is  a  record  of  the 
spirit  of  contemporary  art ;  and  if  it  stands  rather 
apart  from  other  writings,  it  should  not  be  allowed 
to  pass  unnoticed  on  that  account. 

In  this  book,  Faith  is  shown  to  be  everything — 
the  beginning  and  the  end.  We  learn  how  it  fans 
the  flame  of  genius,  nourishes  thought,  directs  work, 

1  Vincent  d'Indy  :  Cours  de  Composition  musicale,  Book  I, 
draAvn  up  from  notes  taken  in  Composition  classes  at  the  Schola 
Cantorum,  1897-1S98,  p.  16  (Durand,  1902).  See  also  the 
inaugural  speech  given  at  the  school,  and  published  by  the 
Tribune  de  Saint-Gervais,  November,  1900. 


Il6  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

and  governs  even  the  modulations  and  the  style  of 
a  musician.  There  is  a  passage  in  it  that  one  would 
think  was  of  the  thirteenth  century  ;  it  is  curious, 
but  not  without  dignity  : 

"  One  should  have  an  aim  in  the  progressive 
march  of  modulations,  as  one  has  in  the  different 
stages  of  life.  The  reason,  instincts,  and  faith 
that  guide  a  man  in  the  troubles  of  his  life  also 
guide  the  musician  in  his  choice  of  modulations. 
Thus  useless  and  contradictory  modulations,  an 
undecided  balance  between  light  and  shade,  pro- 
duce a  painful  and  confusing  impression  on  the 
hearer,  comparable  to  that  which  a  poor  human 
being  inspires  when  he  is  feeble  and  inconsistent, 
buffeted  betw^een  the  East  and  the  West  in  the 
course  of  his  unhappy  life,  without  an  aim  and 
without  belief."  ^ 

This  book  seems  to  be  of  the  Middle  Ages  by 
reason  of  a  sort  of  scholastic  spirit  of  abstraction 
and  classification. 

"  In  artistic  creation,  seven  faculties  are  called 
into  play  by  the  soul :  the  Imagination,  the 
Affections,  the  Understanding,  the  Intelligence, 
the  Memory,  the  Will,  and  the  Conscience."  ^ 

And  again  its  mediaeval  spirit  is  shown  by  an 
extraordinary  symbolism,  which  discovers  in  every- 

^  Vincent  d'Indy,  Cours  de  Composition  musicale,  p.  132. 
2  Id.,  ibid.,  p.  13. 


VINCENT   d'iNDY 


117 


thing  (as  far  as  I  understand  it)  the  imprint  of 
divine  mysteries,  and  the  mark  of  God  in  Three 
Persons  in  such  things  as  the  beating  of  the  heart 
and  ternary  rhythms—"  an  admirable  apphcation 
of  the  principle  of  the  Unity  of  the  Trinity  "  !  ^ 

From  these  remote  times  comes  also  M.  dTndy's 
method  of  writing  history,  not  by  tracing  facts  back 
to  laws,  but  by  deducing,  on  the  contrary,  facts  from 
certain  great  general  ideas,  which  have  once  been 
admitted,  but  not  proved  by  frequent  recurrence, 
such  as  :  "  The  origin  of  art  is  in  religion  "  2 — ^  fact 
which  is  anything  but  certain.  From  this  reasoning 
it  follows  that  folksongs  are  derived  from  Gregorian 
chants,  and  not  the  Gregorian  chants  from  the 
folksongs— as  I  would  sooner  beheve.  The  history 
of  art  may  thus  become  a  sort  of  history  of  the 
world  in  moral  achievement.  One  could  divide  it 
into  two  parts  :  the  world  before  the  coming  of 
Pride,  and  after  it. 

"  Subdued  by  the  Christian  faith,  that  formid- 
able enemy  of  man,  Pride,  rarely  showed  itself 
in  the  soul  of  an  artist  in  the  Middle  Ages.  But 
with  the  weakening  of  religious  belief,  with  the 
spirit  of  the  Reformation  applying  itself  almost 
at  the  same  time  to  every  branch  of  human  learn- 
ing, we  see  Pride  reappear,  and  watch  its  veritable 
Renaissance."  ^ 

^  Id.,  ibid.,  p.  25.  In  the  thirteenth  century,  Philippe  de 
Vitry,  Bishop  of  Meaux,  called  triple  time  "  perfect,"  because 
"  It  hath  its  name  from  the  Trinity,  that  is  to  say,  from  the 
Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  in  whom  is  divine  per- 
fection." 

*  Id.,  ibid.,  pp.  66,  8^,  and  passim.  »  Id.,  ibid. 


Il8  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

Finally,  this  Gothic  spirit  shows  itself — in  a  less 
original  way,  it  is  true — in  M.  d'Indy's  religious 
antipathies,  which,  in  spite  of  the  author's  goodness 
of  heart  and  great  personal  tolerance,  constantly 
break  out  against  the  two  faiths  that  are  rivals  to 
his  own  ;  and  to  them  he  attributes  all  the  faults 
of  art  and  all  the  vices  of  humanity.  Each  has  its 
offence.  Protestantism  is  made  responsible  for  the 
extremes  of  individualism  ;  ^  and  Judaism,  for  the 
absurdities  of  its  customs  and  the  weakness  of  its 
moral  sense.  ^  I  do  not  know  which  of  the  two  is 
the  more  soundly  belaboured  ;  the  second  has  the 
privilege  of  being  so,  not  only  in  writing,  but  in 
pictures.^  The  worst  of  it  is,  these  antipathies  are 
apt  to  spoil  the  fairness  of  M.  d'Indy's  artistic 
judgment.  It  goes  without  saying  that  the  Jewish 
musicians  are  treated  with  scant  consideration ; 
and  even  the  great  Protestant  musicians,  giants  in 
their  art,  do  not  escape  rebuke.  If  Goudimel  is 
mentioned,  it  is  because  he  was  Palestrina's  master, 
and  his  achievement  of  "  turning  the  Calvinist 
psalms  into  chorales  "  is  dismissed  as  being  of  little 
importance.^    Handel's  oratorios  are  spoken  of  as 

1  "  Make  war  against  Particularism,  that  unwholesome  fruit 
of  the  Protestant  heresy  !  "  (Speech  to  the  Schola,  taken  from 
the  Tribune  de  Saint-Gervais,  November,  1900.) 

2  At  least  Judaism  has  the  honour  of  giving  its  name  to  a 
whole  period  of  art,  the  "  Judaic  period."  "  The  modern  style 
is  t4ie  last  phase  of  the  Judaic  school.  .  .  ."  etc. 

^  In  the  Cours  de  Composition  nmsicale  IM.  d'lndy  speaks  of 
"  the  admirable  initial  T  in  the  Rouleau  mortuaire  of  Saint- 
Vital  (twelfth  century),  which  represents  Satan  vomiting  two 
Jews  ...  an  expressive  and  symbolic  work  of  art,  if  ever  there 
was  one."  I  should  not  mention  this  but  for  the  fact  that  there 
are  only  two  illustrations  in  the  whole  book. 

*  Cours  de  Composition  musicale,  p.  160. 


VINCENT   D  INDV  ll^ 

"chilling,  and,  frankly  speaking,  tedious." ^  Bach 
himself  escapes  with  this  qualification:  "If  he  is 
great,  it  is  not  because  of,  but  in  spite  of  the  dog- 
matic and  parching  spirit  of  the  Reformation."  ^ 

1  will  not  try  to  play  the  part  of  judge  ;  for  a  man 
is  sufficiently  judged  by  his  own  writings.  And, 
after  all,  it  is  rather  interesting  to  meet  people  who 
are  sincere  and  not  afraid  to  speak  their  minds.  I 
will  admit  that  I  rather  enjoy — a  little  perversely, 
perhaps — some  of  these  extreme  opinions,  where 
the  writer's  personality  stands  strongly  revealed. 

So  the  old  Gothic  spirit  still  lives  among  us,  and 
informs  the  mind  of  one  of  our  best -known  artists, 
and  also,  without  doubt,  the  minds  of  hundreds  of 
those  who  listen  to  him  and  admire  him.  M.  Louis 
Laloy  has  shown  the  persistence  of  certain  forms  of 
plain-song  in  M.  Debussy's  Pelleas  ;  and  in  a  dim 
sense  of  far-away  kinship  he  finds  the  cause  of  the 
mysterious  charm  that  such  music  holds  for  some 
of  us. 2  This  learned  paradox  is  possible.  Why  not  ? 
The  mixtures  of  race  and  the  vicissitudes  of  history 
have  given  us  so  full  and  complex  a  soul  that  we 
may  very  w^ell  find  its  beginnings  there,  if  it  pleases 
us — or  the  beginnings  of  quite  other  things.  Of 
beginnings  there  is  no  end  ;    the  choice  is  quite 

^  L'Oratorio  moderne  [Tribune  de  Saint-Gervais,  March,  1899). 

*  Ibid.  As  much  as  to  say  he  was  a  Cathohc  without  know- 
ing it.  And  that  is  what  a  friend  of  the  Schola,  M.  Edgar  Tinel, 
declares  :  "  Bach  is  a  truly  Christian  artist  and,  \N'ithout  doubt, 
a  Protestant  by  mistake,  since  in  his  immortal  Credo  ke  con- 
fesses his  faith  in  one  holy,  catholic,  and  apostolic  Church  " 
[Tribune  de  Saint-Gervais,  August-September,  1902).  M.  Edgar 
Tinel  was,  as  you  know,  one  of  the  principal  masters  of  Belgian 
oratorio. 

2  Revue  musicale,  November,  1902 


120  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

embarrassing,  and  I  imagine  one's  inclination  has 
as  much  to  do  with  the  matter  as  one's  temperament. 
However  that  may  be,  M.  d'Indy  hails  from  the 
Middle  Ages,  and  not  from  antiquity  (which  does 
not  exist  for  him^),  or  from  the  Renaissance,  which 
he  confounds  with  the  Reformation  (though  the 
two  sisters  are  enemies)  in  order  to  crush  it  the 
better. 2  "  Let  us  take  for  models,"  he  says,  "  the 
fine  workers  in  art  of  the  Middle  Ages."  ^ 


In  this  return  to  the  Gothic  spirit,  in  this  awaken- 
ing of  faith,  there  is  a  name — a  modern  one  this 
time — that  they  are  fond  of  quoting  at  the  Schola  ; 
it  is  that  of  Cesar  Franck,  under  whose  direction 
the  little  Conservatoire  in  the  Rue  Saint-Jacques 
was  placed.  And  indeed  they  could  quote  no  better 
name  than  that  of  this  simple-hearted  man.  Nearly 
all  who  came  into  contact  with  him  felt  his  irresistible 
charm — a  charm  that  has  perhaps  a  great  deal  to  do 
with  the  influence  that  his  works  still  have  on  French 
music  to-day.  None  has  felt  Franck's  power,  both 
morally  and  musically,  more  than  M.  Vincent  d'Indy; 
and  none  holds  a  more  profound  reverence  for  the 
man  whose  pupil  he  was  for  so  long. 

The  first  time  I  saw  M.  d'Indy  was  at  a  concert 

^  "  The  only  documents  extant  on  ancient  music  are  either 
criticisms  or  appreciations,  and  not  musical  texts  "  {Coi<rs  de 
Composition) . 

2  "  The  influence  of  the  Renaissance,  with  its  pretension  and 
vanity,  caused  a  check  in  all  the  arts — the  effect  of  which  we 
are  still  feeling  "  {Traite  de  Composition,  p.  89.  See  also  the 
passage  quoted  before  on  Pride). 

^  Tribune  de  Saint-Gervais,  November,  1900. 


VINCENT   D  INDY  121 

of  the  Societe  nationale,  in  the  Salle  Pleyel,  in  1888. 
They  were  playing  several  of  Franck's  works ;  among 
others,  for  the  first  time,  his  admirable  Theme,  fugue, 
et  variatio7i,  for  the  harmonium  and  pianoforte,  a 
composition  in  which  the  spirit  of  Bach  is  mingled 
with  a  quite  modern  tenderness.  Franck  was  con- 
ducting, and  M.  d'Indy  was  at  the  pianoforte.  I 
shall  always  remember  his  reverential  manner 
towards  the  old  musician,  and  how  careful  he  was 
to  follow  his  directions  ;  one  would  have  said  he 
was  a  diligent  and  obedient  pupil.  It  was  a  touch- 
ing homage  from  one  who  had  already  proved  him- 
self a  master  by  works  like  Le  Chant  de  la  cloche, 
Walleyistein,  La  Symphonie  sur  un  theme  montagnard, 
and  who  was  perhaps  at  that  time  better  known  and 
more  popular  than  Cesar  Franck  himself.  Since 
then  twenty  years  have  passed,  and  I  still  see 
M.  d'Indy  as  I  saw  him  that  evening ;  and,  whatever 
may  happen  in  the  future,  his  memory  for  me  will 
be  always  associated  with  that  of  the  grand  old 
artist,  presiding  with  his  fatherly  smile  over  the 
little  gathering  of  the  faithful. 

Of  all  the  characteristics  of  Franck's  fine  moral 
nature,  the  most  remarkable  was  his  religious  faith. 
It  must  have  astonished  the  artists  of  his  time,  who 
were  even  more  destitute  of  such  a  thing  than  they 
are  now.  It  made  itself  felt  in  some  of  his  followers, 
especially  in  those  who  were  near  the  master's  heart, 
as  M.  d'Indy  was.  The  religious  thought  of  the 
latter  reflects  in  some  degree  the  thought  of  his 
master  ;  though  the  shape  of  that  thought  may 
have  undergone  unconscious  alteration.     I  do  not 


122  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

know  if  Franck  altogether  fits  the  conception  people 
have  of  him  to-day.  I  do  not  want  to  introduce 
personal  memories  of  him  here.  I  knew  him  well 
enough  to  love  him,  and  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
beauty  and  sincerity  of  his  soul ;  but  I  did  not  know 
him  well  enough  to  discover  the  secrets  of  his  mind. 
Those  who  had  the  happiness  of  being  his  intimate 
friends  seem  always  to  represent  him  as  a  mystic 
who  shut  himself  away  from  the  spirit  of  his  time. 
I  hope  at  some  future  date  one  of  his  friends  will 
publish  some  of  the  conversations  that  he  had  with 
him,  of  which  I  have  heard.  But  this  man  who  had 
so  strong  a  faith  was  also  very  independent.  In 
his  religion  he  had  no  doubts  :  it  was  the  mainspring 
of  his  life  ;  though  faith  with  him  was  much  more 
a  matter  of  feeling  than  a  matter  of  doctrine.  But 
all  was  feeling  with  Franck,  and  reason  made  little 
appeal  to  him.  His  religious  faith  did  not  disturb 
his  mind,  for  he  did  not  measure  men  and  their  works 
by  its  rules  ;  and  he  would  have  been  incapable  of 
putting  together  a  history  of  art  according  to  the 
Bible.  This  great  Cathohc  had  at  times  a  very  pagan 
soul ;  and  he  could  enjoy  without  a  qualm  the 
musical  dilettantism  of  Renan  and  the  sonorous 
nihilism  of  Leconte  de  Lisle.  There  were  no  limits 
to  his  vast  sympathies.  He  did  not  attempt  to 
criticise  the  thing  he  loved — understanding  was 
already  in  his  heart.  Perhaps  he  was  right ;  and 
perhaps  there  was  more  trouble  in  the  depths  of  his 
heart  than  the  valiant  serenity  of  its  surface  would 
lead  us  to  beheve. 

His  faith  too.  ...  I  know  how  dangerous  it  is  to 


VINCENT    d'INDY  123 

interpret  a  musician's  feelings  by  his  music  ;  but 
how  can  we  do  otherwise  when  we  are  told  by 
Franck's  followers  that  the  expression  of  the  soul 
is  the  only  end  and  aim  of  music  ?  Do  we  find  his 
faith,  as  expressed  through  his  music,  always  full 
of  peace  and  calm  ?  ^  I  ask  those  who  love  that 
music  because  they  find  some  of  their  own  sadness 
reflected  there.  Who  has  not  felt  the  secret  tragedies 
that  some  of  his  musical  passages  enfold— those 
short,  characteristically  abrupt  phrases  which  seem 
to  rise  in  supplication  to  God,  and  often  fall  back  m 
sadness  and  in  tears  ?  It  is  not  all  Hght  in  that  soul ; 
but  the  light  that  is  there  does  not  affect  us  less 
because  it  shines  from  afar, 

"  Dans  un  ecartement  de  nuages,  qui  laisse  ^ 

Voir  au-dessus  des  mers  la  celeste  allegresse.  .  .  . 

And  so  Franck  seems  to  me  to  differ  from  M. 
d'Indy  in  that  he  has  not  the  latter's  urgent  desire 
for  clearness. 

Clearness  is  the  distinguishing  quality  of  M. 
d'Indy's  mind.  There  are  no  shadows  about  him. 
His  ideas  and  his  art  are  as  clear  as  the  look  that 
gives  so  much  youth  to  his  face.    For  him  to  examine, 

1  I  speak  of  the  passages  where  he  expresses  himself  freely, 
and  is  not  interpreting  a  dramatic  situation  necessary  to  his 
subject,  as  in  that  fine  symphonic  part  of  the  Redemption,  where 
he  describes  the  triumph  of  Christ.  But  even  there  we  find 
traces  of  sadness  and  suffering. 

2  Through  a  break  in  the  clouds,  revealing 
Celestial  joy  shining  above  the  deeps. 


124  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

to  arrange,  to  classify,  to  combine,  is  a  necessity. 
No  one  is  more  French  in  spirit.  He  has  sometimes 
been  taxed  with  Wagnerism,  and  it  is  true  that  he 
has  felt  Wagner's  influence  very  strongly.  But  even 
when  this  influence  is  most  apparent  it  is  only 
superficial :  his  true  spirit  is  remote  from  Wagner's. 
You  may  find  in  Fervaal  a  few  trees  like  those  in 
Siegfried's  forest ;  but  the  forest  itself  is  not  the 
same  ;  broad  avenues  have  been  cut  in  it,  and  day- 
light fills  the  caverns  of  the  Niebelungs. 

This  love  of  clearness  is  the  ruhng  factor  of  M. 
d'Indy's  artistic  nature.  And  this  is  the  more 
remarkable,  for  his  nature  is  far  from  being  a  simple 
one.  By  his  wide  musical  education  and  his  con- 
stant thirst  for  knowledge  he  has  acquired  a  very 
varied  and  almost  contradictory  learning.  It  must 
be  remembered  that  M.  d'Indy  is  a  musician  familiar 
with  the  music  of  other  countries  and  other  times  ; 
all  kinds  of  musical  forms  are  floating  in  his  mind ; 
and  he  seems  sometimes  to  hesitate  between  them. 
He  has  arranged  these  forms  into  three  principal 
classes,  which  seem  to  him  to  be  models  of  musical 
art  :  the  decorative  art  of  the  singers  of  plain-song, 
the  architectural  art  of  Palestrina  and  his  followers, 
and  the  expressive  art  of  the  great  ItaHans  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  ^  But  in  doing  this  is  not  his 
eclecticism  trying  to  reconcile  arts  that  are  naturally 
disunited  ?  Again,  we  must  remember  that  M. 
d'Indy  has  had  direct  or  indirect  contact  with  some 
of  the  greatest  musical  personalities  of  our  time  : 
with  Wagner,   Liszt,   Brahms,   and  Cesar  Franck. 

^  Tribur.e  de  Saint-Gervais,  November,  1900. 


VINCENT   D  INDY  125 

And  he  has  been  readily  attracted  by  them  ;  for  he  is 
not  one  of  those  egotistic  geniuses  whose  thoughts 
are  fixed  on  his  own  interests,  nor  has  he  one  of 
those  carnivorous  minds  that  sees  nothing,  looks 
for  nothing,  and  relishes  nothing,  unless  it  may  be 
afterwards  useful  to  it.  His  sympathies  are  readily 
with  others,  he  is  happy  in  giving  homage  to  their 
greatness,  and  quick  to  appreciate  their  charm.  He 
speaks  somewhere  of  the  "  irresistible  need  of  trans- 
formation "  that  every  artist  feels. ^  But  in  order 
to  escape  being  overwhelmed  by  conflicting  elements 
and  interests,  one  should  have  great  force  of  feeling 
or  will,  in  order  to  be  able  to  eliminate  what  is  not 
necessary,  and  choose  out  and  transform  what  is. 
M.  d'Indy  eliminates  hardly  anything  ;  he  makes 
use  of  it.  In  his  music  he  exercises  the  quahties  of 
an  army  general :  understanding  of  his  purpose  and 
the  patience  to  attain  it,  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the 
means  at  his  disposal,  the  spirit  of  order,  and  com- 
mand over  his  work  and  himself.  Despite  the 
variety  of  the  materials  he  employs,  the  whole  is 
always  clear.  One  might  almost  reproach  him 
with  being  too  clear ;  he  seems  to  simplify  too 
much. 

Nothing  helps  one  to  grasp  the  essence  of  M. 
d'Indy's  personality  more  than  his  last  dramatic 
work.  His  personality  shows  itself  plainly  in  all 
his  compositions,  but  nowhere  is  it  more  evident 
than  in  L'Etr anger. ^ 

^  7^.,  September,  1899. 

-  L'Etranger,  "  action  musicale  "  in  two  acts.  Poem  and 
music  by  M.  Vincent  d'Indy.  Played  for  the  first  time  at 
Brussels  in  the  Thedtre  de  la  Monnaic,  7  January,  1903.     The 


T26  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

The  scene  of  L'Etr anger  is  laid  in  France,  by  the 
sea,  whose  murmuring  calm  we  hear  in  a  symphonic 
introduction.  The  fishermen  are  coming  back  to 
port  ;  the  fishing  has  been  bad.  But  one  among 
them,  "  a  man  about  forty  years  old,  with  a  sad  and 
dignified  air,"  has  been  more  fortunate  than  the 
others.  The  fishermen  envy  him,  and  vaguely 
suspect  him  of  sorcery.  He  tries  to  enter  into 
friendly  conversation  with  them,  and  offers  his 
catch  to  a  poor  family.  But  in  vain  ;  his  advances 
are  repulsed  and  his  generosity  is  eyed  with  sus- 
picion. He  is  a  stranger — the  Stranger.  ^  Evening 
falls,  and  the  angelus  rings.  Some  work-girls  come 
trooping  out  of  their  workshop,  singing  a  merry 
folksong.  2  One  of  the  young  girls.  Vita,  goes  up  to 
the  Stranger  and  speaks  to  him,  for  she  alone,  of  all 
the  village,  is  his  friend.  The  two  feel  themselves 
drawn  together  by  a  secret  sympathy.  Vita  con- 
fides artlessly  in  the  unknown  man ;  they  love  each 
other  though  they  do  not  admit  it.  The  Stranger 
tries  to  repress  his  feelings ;  for  Vita  is  young  and 
already  afiianced,  and  he  thinks  that  he  has  no  right 
to  claim  her.     But  Vita,  offended  by  his  coldness, 

quotations  from  the  drama,  whose  poetry  is  not  as  good  as  its 
music,  are  taken  from  the  score. 

^  There  is  a  certain  likeness  in  the  subject  to  Herr  Richard 
Strauss's  Feuersnot.  There,  too,  the  hero  is  a  stranger  who 
is  persecuted,  and  treated  as  a  sorcerer  in  the  very  towm  to  which 
he  has  brought  honour.  But  the  denouement  is  not  the  same  ; 
and  the  fundamental  difference  of  temperament  between  the 
two  artists  is  strongly  marked.  M.  d'lndy  finishes  with  the 
renouncement  of  a  Christian,  and  Herr  Richard  Strauss  by  a 
proud  and  joyous  affirmation  of  independence. 

2  Found  by  M.  d'lndy  in  his  own  province,  as  he  tells  us  in 
his  Chansons  populaires  du  Vivarais. 


VINCENT   d'INDY  127 

seeks  to  wound  him,  and  succeeds.  In  the  end  he 
betrays  himself.  "  Yes,  he  loves  her,  and  she  knew 
it  well.  But  now  that  he  has  told  her  so,  he  will 
never  see  her  again  ;  and  he  bids  her  good-bye." 

That  is  the  first  act.  Up  to  this  point  we  seem  to 
be  witnessing  a  very  human  and  realistic  drama — 
the  ordinary  story  of  the  man  who  tries  to  do  good 
and  receives  ingratitude,  and  the  sad  tragedy  of 
old  age  that  comes  to  a  heart  still  young  and  unable 
to  resign  itself  to  growing  old.  But  the  music  puts 
us  on  our  guard.  We  had  heard  its  religious  tone 
when  the  Stranger  was  speaking,  and  it  seemed  to 
us  that  we  recognised  a  liturgical  melody  in  the 
principal  theme.  What  secret  is  being  hidden  from 
us  ?  Are  we  not  in  France  ?  Yet,  in  spite  of  the 
folksong  and  a  passing  breath  of  the  sea,  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  Church  and  Cesar  Franck  is  evident. 
Who  is  this  Stranger  ? 

He  tells  us  in  the  second  act. 

"  My  name  ?  I  have  none.  I  am  He  who 
dreams  ;  I  am  He  who  loves.  I  have  passed 
through  many  countries,  and  sailed  on  many 
seas,  loving  the  poor  and  needy,  dreaming  of  the 
happiness  of  the  brotherhood  of  man." 

"  Where  have  I  seen  you  ? — for  I  know  you." 

"  Where  ?    you  ask.     But  everywhere  :    under 

the  warm  sun  of  the  East,  by  the  white  oceans  of 

the  Pole.  ...  I  have  found  you  everywhere,  for 

you  are  Beauty  itself,  you  are  immortal  Love  !  " 

The  music  is  not  without  a  certain  nobility,  and 


128  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

bears  the  imprint  of  the  calm,  strong  spirit  of  belief. 
But  I  was  sorry  that  the  story  was  only  about  a 
mere  entity  when  I  had  been  getting  interested  in 
a  man.  I  can  never  understand  the  attraction  of 
this  kind  of  symbolism.  Unless  it  is  allied  to  sub- 
lime powers  of  creation  in  metaphysics  or  morals — 
such  as  that  possessed  by  a  Goethe  or  an  Ibsen — I 
do  not  see  what  such  symbolism  can  add  to  life, 
though  I  see  very  well  what  it  takes  away  from  it. 
But  it  is,  after  all,  a  matter  of  taste ;  and,  anyway, 
there  is  nothing  in  this  story  to  astonish  us  greatly. 
This  transition  from  realism  to  symbolism  is  some- 
thing in  opera  with  which  we  have  grown  only  too 
familiar  since  the  time  of  Wagner. 

But  the  story  does  not  stop  there  ;  for  we  leave 
symbolic  abstractions  to  enter  a  still  more  extra- 
ordinary domain,  which  is  removed  even  farther 
still  from  realities. 

There  had  been  some  talk  at  the  beginning  of  an 
emerald  that  sparkled  in  the  Stranger's  cap  ;  and 
this  emerald  now  takes  its  turn  in  the  action  of  the 
piece.  "  It  had  sparkled  formerly  in  the  bows  of 
the  boat  that  carried  the  body  of  Lazarus,  the  friend 
of  our  Master,  Jesus  ;  and  the  boat  had  safely 
reached  the  port  of  the  Phoceans — ^without  a  helm  or 
sails  or  oars.  For  by  this  miraculous  stone  a  clean 
and  upright  heart  could  command  the  sea  and  the 
winds."  But  now  that  the  Stranger  has  done  amiss, 
by  falling  a  victim  to  passion,  its  power  is  gone  ;  so 
he  gives  it  to  Vita. 

Then  follows  a  real  scene  in  fairyland.  Vita 
stands  before  the  sea  and  invokes  it  in  an  incan- 


VINCENT   D  INDY  I29 

tation  full  of  weird  and  beautiful  vocal  music  : 
"  0  sea !  Sinister  sea  with  your  angry  charm, 
gentle  sea  with  your  kiss  of  death,  hear  me  !  "  And 
the  sea  replies  in  a  song.  Voices  mingle  with  the 
orchestra  in  a  symphony  of  increasing  anger.  Vita 
swears  she  will  give  herself  to  no  one  but  the  Stranger. 
She  lifts  the  emerald  above  her  head,  and  it  shines 
with  a  lurid  light.  "  '  Receive,  0  sea,  as  a  token  of 
my  oath,  the  sacred  stone,  the  holy  emerald  !  Then 
may  its  power  be  no  longer  invoked,  and  none  may 
know  again  its  protecting  virtue.  Jealous  sea,  take 
back  your  own,  the  last  offering  of  a  betrothed  !  * 
With  an  impressive  gesture  she  throws  the  emerald 
into  the  waves,  and  a  dark  green  light  suddenly 
shines  out  against  the  black  sky.  This  supernatural 
light  slowly  spreads  over  the  water  until  it  reaches 
the  horizon,  and  the  sea  begins  to  roll  in  great 
billows."  Then  the  sea  takes  up  its  song  in  an 
angrier  tone ;  the  orchestra  thunders,  and  the 
storm  bursts. 

The  boats  put  hurriedly  back  to  land,  and  one  of 
them  seems  likely  to  be  dashed  to  pieces  on  the 
shore.  The  whole  village  turns  out  to  watch  the 
disaster ;  but  the  men  refuse  to  risk  their  lives  in 
aid  of  the  shipwrecked  crew.  Then  the  Stranger  gets 
into  a  boat,  and  Vita  jumps  in  after  him.  The 
squall  redoubles  in  violence.  A  wave  of  enormous 
height  breaks  on  the  jetty,  flooding  the  scene  with 
a  dazzling  green  light.  The  crowd  recoil  in  fear. 
There  is  a  silence  ;  and  an  old  fisherman  takes 
off  his  woollen  cap  and  intones  the  De  Profundis. 
The  villagers  take  up  the  chant.  .  .  , 


130  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

One  may  see  by  this  short  account  what  a  hetero- 
geneous work  it  is.  Two  or  three  quite  different 
worlds  are  brought  into  it :  the  reahsm  of  the 
bourgeois  characters  of  Vita's  mother  and  lover  is 
mixed  up  with  symbolisms  of  Christianity,  repre- 
sented by  the  Stranger,  and  with  the  fairy-tale  of  the 
magic  emerald  and  the  voices  of  the  ocean.  This 
complexity,  which  is  evident  enough  in  the  poem, 
is  even  more  evident  in  the  music,  where  a  union 
of  different  arts  and  different  ideas  is  attempted. 
We  get  the  art  of  the  folksong,  religious  art,  the  art 
of  Wagner,  the  art  of  Franck,  as  well  as  a  note  of 
familiar  realism  (which  is  something  akin  to  the 
Italian  opera-houffe)  and  descriptions  of  sensation 
that  are  quite  personal.  As  there  are  only  two 
short  acts,  the  rapidity  of  the  action  only  serves  to 
accentuate  this  impression.  The  changes  are  very 
abrupt :  we  are  hurried  from  a  world  of  human 
beings  to  a  world  of  abstract  ideas,  and  then  taken 
from  an  atmosphere  of  religion  to  a  land  of  fairies. 
The  work  is,  however,  clear  enough  from  a  musical 
point  of  view.  The  more  complex  the  elements  that 
M.  dTndy  gathers  round  him  the  more  anxious  he 
is  to  bring  them  into  harmony.  It  is  a  difficult  task, 
and  is  only  possible  when  the  different  elements  are 
reduced  to  their  simplest  expression  and  brought 
down  to  their  fundamental  qualities — thus  depriving 
them  of  the  spice  of  their  individuality.  M.  dTndy 
puts  different  styles  and  ideas  on  the  anvil,  and 
then  forges  them  vigorously.  It  is  natural  that  here 
and  there  we  should  see  the  mark  of  the  hammer, 
the  imprint  of  his  determination  ;  but  it  is  only  by 


VINCENT   d'iNDY  13I 

his  determination  that  he  welded  the  work  into  a 
soHd  whole. 

Perhaps  it  is  determination  that  brings  unity  now 
and  then  into  M.  d'Indy's  spirit.  With  reference  to 
this,  I  will  dwell  upon  one  point  only,  since  it  is 
curious,  and  seems  to  me  to  be  of  general  artistic 
interest.  M.  d'Indy  writes  his  own  poems  for  his 
"  actions  musicales  " — Wagner's  example,  it  seems, 
has  been  catching.  We  have  seen  how  the  harmony 
of  a  w^ork  may  suffer  through  the  dual  gifts  of  its 
author;  though  he  may  have  thought  to  perfect 
his  composition  by  writing  both  words  and  music. 
But  an  artist's  poetical  and  musical  gifts  are  not 
necessarily  of  the  same  order.  A  man  has  not  always 
the  same  kind  of  talent  in  other  arts  that  he  has  in 
the  art  which  he  has  made  his  own — I  am  speaking 
not  only  of  his  technical  skill,  but  of  his  temperament 
as  well.  Delacroix  was  of  the  Romantic  school  in 
painting,  but  in  literature  his  style  was  Classic. 
We  have  all  known  artists  who  were  revolutionaries 
in  their  own  sphere,  but  conservative  and  behind  the 
times  in  their  opinions  about  other  branches  of  art. 
The  double  gift  of  poetry  and  music  is  in  M.  d'Indy 
up  to  a  certain  point.  But  is  his  reason  always  in 
agreement  with  his  heart  ?  i     Of  course  his  nature 

1  In  his  criticisms  his  heart  is  not  always  in  agreement  with 
his  mind.    His  mind  denounces  the  Renaissance,  but  his  instinct 


obliges  him  to  appreciate  the  great  Florentine  painters  of  the 
Renaissance  and  the  musicians  of  the  sixteenth  century.  He 
only  gets  out  of  the  difficulty  by  the  most  extraordinary  com- 
promises, by  saying  that  Ghirlandajo  and  Filippo  Lippi  were 
Gothic,  or  by  stating  that  the  Renaissance  in  music  did  not 
begin  till  the  seventeenth  century  !  {Cour$  d&  Composition,  pp. 


132  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

is  too  dignified  to  let  the  quarrel  be  shown  openly. 
His  heart  obeys  the  commands  of  his  reason,  or 
compromises  with  it,  and  by  seeming  respectful  of 
authority  saves  appearances.  His  reason,  repre- 
sented here  by  the  poet,  likes  simple,  realistic,  and 
relevant  action,  together  with  moral  or  even  religious 
teaching.  His  heart,  represented  by  the  musician, 
is  romantic  ;  and  if  he  followed  it  altogether  he 
would  wander  off  to  any  subject  that  enabled  him 
to  indulge  in  his  love  of  the  picturesque,  such  as  the 
descriptive  symphony,  or  even  the  old  form  of  opera. 
For  myself,  I  am  in  sympathy  with  his  heart ; 
and  I  find  his  heart  is  in  the  right,  and  his  reason 
in  the  wrong.  There  is  nothing  that  M.  d'Indy  has 
made  more  his  own  than  the  art  of  painting  land- 
scapes in  music.  There  is  one  page  in  Fervaal  at 
the  beginning  of  Act  H  which  calls  up  misty  moun- 
tain tops  covered  with  pine  forests  ;  there  is  another 
page  in  L'Etr anger  where  one  sees  strange  lights 
glimmering  on  the  sea  w^hile  a  storm  is  brooding.^ 
I  should  like  to  see  M.  d'Indy  give  himself  up  freely, 
in  spite  of  all  theories,  to  this  descriptive  lyricism, 
in  which  he  so  excels  ;  or  I  wish  at  least  he  would 
seek  inspiration  in  a  subject  where  both  his  religious 
beliefs  and  his  imagination  could  find  satisfaction : 
a  subject  such  as  one  of  the  beautiful  episodes  of 
the  Golden  Legend,  or  the  one  which  L'^trangei 
itself  recalls — the  romantic  voyage  of  the  Magdalen 
in  Provence.    But  it  is  foolish  to  wish  an  artist  to 

1  Act  III,  scene  3.  The  power  of  that  evocation  is  so  strong 
that  it  carries  the  poet  along  with  it.  It  would  seem  that  part 
of  the  action  had  only  been  conceived  with  a  view  to  the  final 
eff^t  of  the  sudden  colouring  of  the  waves, 


VINCENT   d'iNDY  133 

do  anything  but  the  thing  he  Hkes  ;   he  is  the  best 
judge  of  what  pleases  him. 


In  this  sketchy  portrait  I  must  not  forget  one  of 
the  finest  of  this  composer's  gifts — his  talent  as  a 
teacher  of  music.  Everything  has  fitted  M.  d'Indy 
for  this  part.  By  his  knowledge  and  his  precise, 
orderly  mind  he  must  be  a  perfect  teacher  of  com- 
position. If  I  submit  some  question  of  harmony 
or  melodic  phrasing  to  his  analysis,  the  result  is  the 
essence  of  clear,  logical  reasoning  ;  and  if  the  reason- 
ing is  a  little  dry  and  simpHfies  the  thing  almost  too 
much,  it  is  still  very  illuminating  and  from  the  hand 
of  a  master  of  French  prose.  And  in  this  I  find  him 
exercising  the  same  consistent  instinct  of  good 
sense  and  sincerity,  the  same  art  of  development, 
the  same  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  century  prin- 
ciples of  classic  rhetoric  that  he  applies  to  his  music. 
In  truth,  M.  d'Indy  could  write  a  musical  Discourse 
on  Style,  if  he  wished. 

But,  above  all,  he  is  gifted  with  the  moral  qualities 
of  a  teacher — the  vocation  for  teaching,  first  of  all. 
He  has  a  firm  belief  in  the  absolute  duty  of  giving 
instruction  in  art,  and,  what  is  rarer  still,  in  the 
efficacious  virtue  of  that  teaching.  He  readily 
shares  Tolstoy's  scorn,  which  he  sometimes  quotes, 
of  the  foohshness  of  art  for  art's  sake. 

"  At  the  bottom  of  art  is  this  essential  condi- 
tion— teaching.  The  aim  of  art  is  neither  gain 
nor  glory  ;    the  true  aim  of  art  is  to  teach,  to 


134  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

elevate  gradually  the  spirit  of  humanity  ;  in  a 
word,  to  serve  in  the  highest  sense — '  dienen  '  as 
Wagner  says  by  the  mouth  of  the  repentant 
Kundry,  in  the  third  act  of  Parsifal."  ^ 

There  is  in  this  a  mixture  of  Christian  humility 
and  aristocratic  pride.  M.  d'Indy  has  a  sincere 
desire  for  the  welfare  of  humanity,  and  he  loves  the 
people  ;  but  he  treats  them  with  an  affectionate 
kindness,  at  once  protective  and  tolerant ;  he 
regards  them  as  children  that  must  be  led.^ 

The  popular  art  that  he  extols  is  not  an  art 
belonging  to  the  people,  but  that  of  an  aristocracy 
interested  in  the  people.  He  wishes  to  enlighten 
them,  to  mould  them,  to  direct  them,  by  means  of 
art.  Art  is  the  source  of  life  ;  it  is  the  spirit  of 
progress  ;  it  gives  the  most  precious  of  possessions 
to  the  soul — liberty.  And  no  one  enjoys  this  liberty 
more  than  the  artist.  In  a  lecture  to  the  Schola  he 
said : 

"  What  makes  the  name  of '  artist '  so  splendid 
is  that  the  artist  is  free — absolutely  free.  Look 
about  you,  and  tell  me  if  from  this  point  of  view 
there  is  any  career  finer  than  that  of  an  artist 
who  is  conscious  of  his  mission  ?  The  Army  ? 
The  Law  ?    The  University  ?    Politics  ?  " 

And  then  follows  a  rather  cold  appreciation  of 
these  different  careers. 

^   Cours  de  Composition,  and  Tribune  de  Saint-Geyvais. 
'  Cours  de  Composition. 


VINCENT   D  INDY  135 

"  There  is  no  need  to  mention  the  excessive 
bureaucracy  and  officiaHsm  which  is  the  crying 
evil  of  this  country.  We  find  everywhere  sub- 
mission to  rules  and  servitude  to  the  State.  But 
what  government,  pope,  emperor,  or  president 
could  obHge  an  artist  to  think  and  write  against 
his  will  ?  Liberty — that  is  the  true  wealth  and 
the  most  precious  inheritance  of  the  artist,  the 
liberty  to  think,  and  the  liberty  that  no  one  has 
the  power  to  take  away  from  us — that  of  doing  our 
work  according  to  the  dictates  of  our  conscience." 

Who  does  not  feel  the  infectious  warmth  and 
beauty  of  these  spirited  words  ?  How  this  force  of 
enthusiasm  and  sincerity  must  grip  all  young  and 
eager  hearts.  "  There  are  two  qualities,"  says  M. 
d'lndy,  on  the  last  page  of  Cours  de  Composition, 
"  which  a  master  should  try  to  encourage  and 
develop  in  the  spirit  of  the  pupil,  for  without  them 
science  is  useless ;  these  qualities  are  an  unselfish 
love  of  art  and  enthusiasm  for  good  work."  And 
these  two  virtues  radiate  from  M.  dTndy's  person- 
ality as  they  do  from  his  writings  ;  that  is  his 
power. 

But  the  best  of  his  teaching  lies  in  his  life.  One 
can  never  speak  too  highly  of  his  disinterested 
devotion  for  the  good  of  art.  As  if  it  were  not 
enough  to  put  all  his  might  into  his  own  creations, 
M.  d'lndy  gives  his  time  and  the  results  of  his  study 
unsparingly  to  others.  Franck  gave  lessons  in  order 
to  be  able  to  live  ;  M.  d'lndy  gives  them  for  the 
pleasure  of  instructing,  and  to  serve  his  art  and  aid 


136  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

artists.  He  directs  schools,  and  accepts  and  almost 
seeks  out  the  most  thankless,  though  the  most 
necessary,  kinds  of  teaching.  Or  he  will  apply 
himself  devoutly  to  the  study  of  the  past  and  the 
resuscitation  of  some  old  master.  And  he  seems 
to  take  so  much  pleasure  in  training  young  minds 
to  appreciate  music,  or  in  repairing  the  injustices 
of  history  to  some  fine  but  forgotten  musician,  that 
he  almost  forgets  about  himself.  To  what  work 
or  to  what  worker,  worthy  of  interest,  or  seeming 
to  be  so,  has  he  ever  refused  his  advice  and  help  ? 
I  have  known  his  kindness  personally,  and  I  shall 
always  be  sincerely  grateful  for  it. 

His  devotion  and  his  faith  have  not  been  in  vain. 
The  name  of  M.  dTndy  will  be  associated  in  history, 
not  only  with  fine  works,  but  with  great  works :  with 
the  SociHe  Natio7iale  de  Musique,  of  which  he  is  pre- 
sident ;  with  the  Schola  Cantonim,  which  he  founded 
with  Charles  Bordes,  and  which  he  directs ;  with  the 
young  French  school  of  music,  a  group  of  skilful 
artists  and  innovators,  to  whom  he  is  a  kind  of 
elder  brother,  giving  them  encouragement  by  his 
example  and  helping  them  through  the  first  hard 
years  of  struggle  ;  and,  lastly,  with  an  awakening 
of  music  in  Europe,  with  a  movement  which,  after 
the  death  of  Wagner  and  Franck,  attracted  the 
interest  of  the  world  by  its  revival  of  the  art  of  the 
Middle  Ages  and  the  Renaissance.  M.  dTndy  has 
been  the  chief  representative  of  all  this  artistic 
evolution  in  France.  By  his  deeds,  by  his  example, 
and  by  his  spirit,  he  was  among  the  first  to  stir  up 
interest  in  the  musical  education  of  France  to-day. 


VINCENT   D  INDY  I37 

He  has  done  more  for  the  advancement  of  our  music 
than  the  entire  official  teaching  of  the  Conservatoires. 
A  day  will  come  when,  by  the  force  of  things  and  in 
spite  of  all  resistance,  such  a  man  will  take  the 
place  that  belongs  to  him  at  the  head  of  the  organi- 
sation of  music  in  France. 


I  have  tried  to  unearth  M.  d'Indy's  strongest 
characteristics,  and  I  think  I  have  found  them  in 
his  faith  and  in  his  activity.  I  am  only  too  aw^are 
of  the  pitfalls  that  have  beset  me  in  this  attempt ; 
it  is  always  difficult  to  criticise  a  man's  personality, 
and  it  is  most  difficult  when  he  is  alive  and  still  in 
the  midst  of  his  development.  Every  man  is  a 
mystery,  not  only  to  others,  but  to  himself.  There 
is  something  very  presumptuous  about  pretending 
to  know  anyone  who  does  not  quite  know  himself. 
And  yet  one  cannot  live  without  forming  opinions  ; 
it  is  a  necessity  of  hfe.  The  people  we  see  and  know 
(or  say  we  know),  our  friends,  and  those  we  love, 
are  never  what  we  think  them.  Often  they  are  not 
at  all  like  the  portrait  we  conjure  up  ;  for  we  walk 
among  the  phantoms  of  our  hearts.  But  still  one 
must  go  on  having  opinions,  and  go  on  constructing 
and  creating  things,  if  we  do  not  want  to  become 
impotent  through  inertia.  Error  is  better  than 
doubt,  provided  we  err  in  good  faith  ;  and  the  main 
thing  is  to  speak  out  the  thing  that  one  really  feels 
and  beheves.  I  hope  M.  d'lndy  will  forgive  me  if  I 
have  gone  far  wrong,  and  that  he  will  see  in  these 
pages  a  sincere  effort  to  understand  him  and  a  keen 


138  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

sympathy  with  himself,  and  even  with  his  ideas, 
though  I  do  not  ahvays  share  them.  But  I  have 
always  thought  that  in  life  a  man's  opinions  go  for 
very  little,  and  that  the  only  thing  that  matters  is 
the  man  himself.  Freedom  of  spirit  is  the  greatest 
happiness  one  can  know ;  one  must  be  sorry  for 
those  who  have  not  got  it.  And  there  is  a  secret 
pleasure  in  rendering  homage  to  another's  splendid 
creed,  even  though  it  is  one  that  we  do  not  ourselves 
profess. 


RICHARD    STRAUSS 

The  composer  of  Heldenlehen  is  no  longer  unknown 
to  Parisians.  Every  year  at  Colonne's  or  Chevillard's 
we  see  his  tall,  thin  silhouette  reappear  in  the  con- 
ductor's desk.  There  he  is  with  his  abrupt  and  im- 
perious gestures,  his  wan  and  anxious  face,  his 
wonderfully  clear  eyes,  restless  and  penetrating  at 
the  same  time,  his  mouth  shaped  like  a  child's,  a 
moustache  so  fair  that  it  is  nearly  white,  and  curly 
hair  growing  like  a  crown  above  his  high  round 
forehead. 

I  should  like  to  try  to  sketch  here  the  strange  and 
arresting  personality  of  the  man  who  in  Germany 
is  considered  the  inheritor  of  Wagner's  genius — 
the  man  who  has  had  the  audacity  to  write,  after 
Beethoven,  an  Heroic  Symphony,  and  to  imagine 
himself  the  hero. 


Richard  Strauss  is  thirty-four  years  old.^  He 
was  born  in  Munich  on  ii  June,  1864.  His  father, 
a  well-known  virtuoso,  was  first  horn  in  the  Royal 
orchestra,  and  his  mother  was  a  daughter  of 
the  brewer  Pschorr.  He  was  brought  up  among 
musical  surroundings.  At  four  years  old  he  played 
the  piano,  and  at  six  he  composed  little  dances, 

1  This  essay  was  written  in  1899. 
I3f 


140  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

Lieder,  sonatas,  and  even  overtures  for  the  orchestra. 
Perhaps  this  extreme  artistic  precocity  has  had 
something  to  do  with  the  feverish  character  of  his 
talents,  by  keeping  his  nerves  in  a  state  of  tension 
and  unduly  exciting  his  mind.  At  school  he  com- 
posed choruses  for  some  of  Sophocles'  tragedies. 
In  1881,  Hermann  Levi  had  one  of  the  young 
collegian's  symphonies  performed  by  his  orchestra. 
At  the  University  he  spent  his  time  in  writing 
instrumental  music.  Then  Biilow  and  Radecke 
made  him  play  in  Berlin  ;  and  Biilow,  who  became 
very  fond  of  him,  had  him  brought  to  Meiningen  as 
Mtisikdirector.  From  1886  to  1889  he  held  the  same 
post  at  the  HoftJieater  in  Munich.  From  1889  to 
1894  he  was  Kapellmeister  at  the  H  of  theater  in 
Weimar.  He  returned  to  Munich  in  1894  as  Hof- 
kapellmeister,  and  in  1897  succeeded  Hermann  Levi. 
Finally,  he  left  Munich  for  Berlin,  w^here  at  present 
he  conducts  the  orchestra  of  the  Royal  Opera. 

Two  things  should  be  particularly  noted  in  his 
life  :  the  influence  of  Alexander  Ritter — to  whom 
he  has  shown  much  gratitude — and  his  travels  in  the 
south  of  Europe.  He  made  Ritter's  acquaintance 
in  1885.  This  musician  was  a  nephew  of  Wagner's, 
and  died  some  years  ago.  His  music  is  practically 
unknown  in  France,  though  he  wrote  tw^o  well- 
known  operas,  Fauler  Hans  and  Wem  die  Krone  ? 
and  was  the  first  composer,  according  to  Strauss,  to 
introduce  Wagnerian  methods  into  the  Lied.  He 
is  often  discussed  in  Billow's  and  Liszt's  letters. 
"  Before  I  met  him,"  says  Strauss,  "  I  had  been 
brought  up  on  strictlv  classical  lines ;    I  had  lived 


RICHARD   STRAUSS  I4I 

entirely  on  Ha^^dn,  Mozart,  and  Beethoven,  and 
had  just  been  studying  Mendelssohn,  Chopin, 
Schumann,  and  Brahms.  It  is  to  Ritter  alone  I  am 
indebted  for  my  knowledge  of  Liszt  and  Wagner  ; 
it  was  he  who  showed  me  the  importance  of  the 
WTitings  and  w^orks  of  these  two  masters  in  the 
history  of  art.  It  was  he  who  by  years  of  lessons 
and  kindly  counsel  made  me  a  musician  of  the 
future  {Zukunftsmusiker) ,  and  set  my  feet  on  a  road 
where  now  I  can  walk  unaided  and  alone.  It  w^as 
he  also  who  initiated  me  in  Schopenhauer's  philo- 
sophy." 

The  second  influence,  that  of  the  South,  dates 
from  April,  1886,  and  seems  to  have  left  an  indelible 
impression  upon  Strauss.  He  visited  Rome  and 
Naples  for  the  first  time,  and  came  back  with  a 
symphonic  fantasia  called  Aus  Italien.  In  the 
spring  of  1892,  after  a  sharp  attack  of  pneumonia, 
he  travelled  for  a  year  and  a  half  in  Greece,  Egypt, 
and  Sicily.  The  tranquillity  of  these  favoured 
countries  filled  him  with  never-ending  regret.  The 
North  has  depressed  him  since  then,  "  the  eternal 
grey  of  the  North  and  its  phantom  shadow^s  without 
a  sun."  1  When  I  saw  him  at  Charlottenburg,  one 
chilly  April  day,  he  told  me  with  a  sigh  that  he 
could  compose  nothing  in  winter,  and  that  he 
longed  for  the  warmth  and  light  of  Italy.  His  music 
is  infected  by  that  longing ;  and  it  makes  one  feel 
how  his  spirit  suffers  in  the  gloom  of  Germany,  and 
ever  yearns  for  the  colours,  the  laughter,  and  the 
joy  of  the  South.  Like  the  musician  that  Nietzsche 
^  Nietzsche. 


142  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

dreamed  of,i  he  seems  ''to  hear  ringing  in  his  ears 
the  prelude  of  a  deeper,  stronger  music,  perhaps  a 
more  wayward  and  mysterious  music  ;  a  music  that 
is  super-German,  which,  unhke  other  music,  would 
not  die  away,  nor  pale,  nor  grow  dull  beside  the  blue 
and  wanton  sea  and  the  clear  Mediterranean  sky ; 
a  music  super-European,  which  would  hold  its  own 
even  by  the  dark  sunsets  of  the  desert ;  a  music 
whose  soul  is  akin  to  the  palm  trees  ;  a  music  that 
knows  how  to  live  and  move  among  great  beasts  of 
prey,  beautiful  and  solitary ;  a  music  whose 
supreme  charm  is  its  ignorance  of  good  and  evil. 
Only  from  time  to  time  perhaps  there  would  flit 
over  it  the  longing  of  the  sailor  for  home,  golden 
shadows,  and  gentle  weaknesses  ;  and  towards  it 
would  come  flying  from  afar  the  thousand  tints  of 
the  setting  of  a  moral  world  that  men  no  longer 
understood  ;  and  to  these  belated  fugitives  it  would 
extend  its  hospitality  and  sympathy."  But  it  is 
always  the  North,  the  melancholy  of  the  North, 
and  "  all  the  sadness  of  mankind,"  mental  anguish, 
the  thought  of  death,  and  the  tyranny  of  life,  that 
come  and  weigh  down  afresh  his  spirit  hungering 
for  light,  and  force  it  into  feverish  speculation  and 
bitter  argument.    Perhaps  it  is  better  so. 


Richard  Strauss  is  both  a  poet  and  a  musician. 
These  two  natures  live  together  in  him,  and  each 

^  Beyond  Good  and  Evil,  i8S6.  I  hope  I  ma}^  be  excused  for 
introducing  Nietzsche  here,  but  his  thoughts  seem  constantly  to 
be  reflected  in  Strauss,  and  to  throw  much  light  oo  the  soul  of 
rood^rQ  Germany. 


RICHARD   STRAUSS  I43 

strives  to  get  the  better  of  the  other.  The  balance 
is  not  always  well  maintained ;  but  when  he  does 
succeed  in  keeping  it  by  sheer  force  of  will  the 
union  of  these  two  talents,  directed  to  the  same  end, 
produces  an  effect  more  powerful  than  any  known 
since  Wagner's  time.  Both  natures  have  their 
source  in  a  mind  filled  with  heroic  thoughts — a 
rarer  possession,  I  consider,  than  a  talent  for  either 
music  or  poetry.  There  are  other  great  musicians 
in  Europe  ;  but  Strauss  is  something  more  than  a 
great  musician,  for  he  is  able  to  create  a  hero. 

When  one  talks  of  heroes  one  is  thinking  of  drama. 
Dramatic  art  is  everywhere  in  Strauss's  music,  even 
in  works  that  seem  least  adapted  to  it,  such  as 
his  Lieder  and  compositions  of  pure  music.  It  is 
most  evident  in  his  symphonic  poems,  which  are 
the  most  important  part  of  his  work.  These  poems 
are  :  Wanderers  Stiirmlied  (1885),  Aus  Italien  (1886), 
Macbeth  (1887),  ^on  Juan  (1888),  Tod  und  Ver- 
kldrung  (1889),  G'^intram  (1892-93),  Till  Eulenspiegel 
(1894),  Also  sprach  Zarathustra  (1895),  Don  Quixote 
(1897),  and  Heldenleben  (1898). ^ 

I  shall  not  say  much  about  the  four  first  works, 
where  the  mind  and  manner  of  the  artist  is  taking 
shape.  The  Wanderers  Sturmlied  (the  song  of  a 
traveller  during  a  storm,  op.  14)  is  a  vocal  sextette 
with  an  orchestral  accompaniment,  whose  subject 
is  taken  from  a  poem  of  Goethe's.  It  was  written 
before  Strauss  met  Ritter,  and  its  construction  is 


^  This  article  was  written  in  1899.  Since  then  the  Sinfonia 
Dotnestica  has  been  produced,  and  will  be  noticed  iR  the  essav 
rretiQh  cind  German  MusIq, 


144  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

after  the  manner  of  Brahms,  and  shows  a  rather 
affected  thought  and  style.  Aus  Italien  (op.  i6)  is 
an  exuberant  picture  of  impressions  of  his  tour  in 
Italy,  of  the  ruins  at  Rome,  the  seashore  at  Sorrento, 
and  the  life  of  the  Italian  people.  Macbeth  (op.  23) 
gives  us  a  rather  undistinguished  series  of  musical 
interpretations  of  poetical  subjects.  Don  Juan 
(op.  20)  is  much  finer,  and  translates  Lenau's  poem 
into  music  with  bombastic  vigour,  showing  us  the 
hero  who  dreams  of  grasping  all  the  joy  of  the  world, 
and  how  he  fails,  and  dies  after  he  has  lost  faith  in 
everything. 

Tod  tind  Verkldrung  ("Death  and  Transfiguration," 
op.  24 1)  marks  considerable  progress  in  Strauss's 
thought  and  style.  It  is  still  one  of  the  most  stirring 
of  Strauss's  works,  and  the  one  that  is  conceived 
with  the  most  perfect  unity.  It  was  inspired  by  a 
poem  of  Alexander  Ritter's,  and  I  will  give  you  an 
idea  of  its  subject. 

In  a  wretched  room,  lit  only  by  a  nightlight,  a  sick 
man  lies  in  bed.  Death  draws  near  him  in  the  midst 
of  awe-inspiring  silence.  The  unhappy  man  seems 
to  wander  in  his  mind  at  times,  and  to  find  comfort 
in  past  memories.  His  life  passes  before  his  eyes  : 
his  innocent  childhood,  his  happy  youth,  the 
struggles  of  middle  age,  and  his  efforts  to  attain  the 
splendid  goal  of  his  desires,  which  always  eludes  him. 
He  had  been  striving  all  his  life  for  this  goal,  and  at 
last  thought  it  was  within  reach,  when  Death,  in  a 
voice  of  thunder,  cries,  suddenly,  "Stop!"     And 

1  Composed  in  1889,  and  performed  for  the  first  time  at 
Eisenach  in  1890. 


RICHARD   STRAUSS  I45 

even  now  in  his  agony  he  struggles  desperately, 
being  set  upon  realising  his  dream  ;  but  the  hand  of 
Death  is  crushing  life  out  of  his  body,  and  night  is 
creeping  on.  Then  resounds  in  the  heavens  the 
promise  of  that  happiness  which  he  had  vainly 
sought  for  on  earth— Redemption  and  Transfigura- 
tion. 

Richard  Strauss's  friends  protested  vigorously 
against  this  orthodox  ending;  and  Seidl,i  Jorisenne,^ 
and  Wilhelm  Mauke^  pretended  that  the  subject 
was  something  loftier,  that  it  was  the  eternal 
struggle  of  the  soul  against  its  lower  self  and  its 
dehverance  by  means  of  art.  I  shall  not  enter  into 
that  discussion,  though  I  think  that  such  a  cold 
and  commonplace  symbolism  is  much  less  interest- 
ing than  the  struggle  with  death,  which  one  feels 
in  every  note  of  the  composition.  It  is  a  classical 
w^ork,  comparatively  speaking;  broad  and  majestic 
and  almost  like  Beethoven  in  style.  The  reahsm  of 
the  subject  in  the  hallucinations  of  the  dying  man, 
the  shiverings  of  fever,  the  throbbing  of  the  veins, 
and  the  despairing  agony,  is  transfigured  by  the 
purity  of  the  form  in  which  it  is  cast.  It  is  realism 
after  the  manner  of  the  symphony  in  C  minor, 
where  Beethoven  argues  with  Destiny.  If  all  sug- 
gestion of  a  programme  is  taken  away,  the  sym- 
phony still  remains  intelligible  and  impressive  by 
its  harmonious  expression  of  feeling.  Many  German 
musicians    think    that    Strauss    has    reached    the 

1  Richard  Strauss,  eine  Charakterskizze,  1896,  Prague. 

2  R.  Strauss,  Essai  critique  et  hiologique,  1898,  Brussels. 

3  Der  Musikfiihrer  :    Tod  und  Verkldriiyig,  Frankfort. 


146  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

highest  point  of  his  work  in  Tod  und  Verkldrimg. 
But  I  am  far  from  agreeing  with  them,  and  beheve 
myself  that  his  art  has  developed  enormously  as 
the  result  of  it.  It  is  true  it  is  the  summit  of 
one  period  of  his  life,  containing  the  essence  of  all 
that  is  best  in  it ;  but  Heldenleben  marks  the  second 
period,  and  is  its  corner-stone.  How  the  force  and 
fulness  of  his  feeling  has  grown  since  that  first 
period  !  But  he  has  never  re-found  the  delicate  and 
melodious  purity  of  soul  and  youthful  grace  of  his 
earlier  work,  which  still  shines  out  in  Guntram, 
and  is  then  effaced. 


Strauss  has  directed  Wagner's  dramas  at  Weimar 
since  1889.  While  breathing  their  atmosphere  he 
turned  his  attention  to  the  theatre,  and  wrote  the 
libretto  of  his  opera  Guntram.  Illness  interrupted 
his  work,  and  he  was  in  Egypt  when  he  took  it  up 
again.  The  music  of  the  first  act  was  written 
between  December,  1892,  and  February,  1893, 
while  travelling  between  Cairo  and  Luxor ;  the 
second  act  was  finished  in  June,  1893,  in  Sicily ;  and 
the  third  act  early  in  September,  1893,  in  Bavaria. 
There  is,  however,  no  trace  of  an  oriental  atmos- 
phere in  this  music.  We  find  rather  the  melodies  of 
Italy,  the  reflection  of  a  mellow  light,  and  a  resigned 
calm.  I  feel  in  it  the  languid  mind  of  the  convales- 
cent, almost  the  heart  of  a  young  girl  whose  tears 
are  ready  to  flow,  though  she  is  smiling  a  little  at 
her  own  sad  dreams.  It  seems  to  me  that  Strauss 
must  have  a  secret  af ection  for  this  work,  which 


RICHARD   STRAUSS  I47 

owes  its  inspiration  to  the  iindefinable  impressions 
of  convalescence.  His  fever  fell  asleep  in  it,  and 
certain  passages  are  full  of  the  caressing  touch  of 
nature,  and  recall  Berlioz's  Les  Troy  ens.  But  too 
often  the  music  is  superficial  and  conventional,  and 
the  tyranny  of  Wagner  makes  itself  felt — a  rare 
enough  occurrence  in  Strauss's  other  works.  The 
poem  is  interesting  ;  Strauss  has  put  much  of  him- 
self into  it,  and  one  is  conscious  of  the  crisis  that 
unsettled  his  broad-minded  but  often  self-satisfied 
and  inconsistent  ideas. 

Strauss  had  been  reading  an  historical  study  of 
an  order  of  Minnesanger  and  mystics,  which  was 
founded  in  Austria  in  the  Middle  Ages  to  fight 
against  the  corruption  of  art,  and  to  save  souls  by 
the  beauty  of  song.  They  called  themselves  Streiter 
der  Liehe  (''Warriors  of  Love  ").  Strauss,  who  was 
imbued  at  that  time  with  neo-Christian  ideas  and 
the  influence  of  Wagner  and  Tolstoy,  was  carried 
away  by  the  subject,  and  took  Guntram  from  the 
Streiter  der  Liehe,  and  made  him  his  hero. 

The  action  takes  place  in  the  thirteenth  century, 
in  Germany.  The  first  act  gives  us  a  glade  near  a 
little  lake.  The  country  people  are  in  revolt  against 
the  nobles,  and  have  just  been  repulsed.  Guntram 
and  his  master  Friedhold  distribute  alms  among 
them,  and  the  band  of  defeated  men  then  take  flight 
into  the  woods.  Left  alone,  Guntram  begins  to 
muse  on  the  delights  of  springtime  and  the  innocent 
awakening  of  Nature.  But  the  thought  of  the 
misery  that  its  beauty  hides  weighs  upon  him.  He 
thinks  of  men's  evil  doing,  of  human  suffering,  and 


148  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

of  civil  war.  He  gives  thanks  to  Christ  for  having  led 
him  to  this  unhappy  country,  kisses  the  cross,  and 
decides  to  go  to  the  court  of  the  tyrant  who  is  the 
cause  of  all  the  trouble,  and  make  known  to  him 
the  Divine  revelation.  At  that  moment  Freihild 
appears.  She  is  the  wife  of  Duke  Robert,  who  is  the 
cruellest  of  all  the  nobles,  and  she  is  horrified  by  all 
that  is  happening  around  her  ;  life  seems  hateful  to 
her,  and  she  wishes  to  drown  herself.  But  Guntram 
prevents  her ;  and  the  pity  that  her  beauty  and 
trouble  had  at  first  aroused  changes  unconsciously 
into  love  when  he  recognises  her  as  the  beloved 
princess  and  sole  benefactress  of  the  unhappy  people. 
He  tells  her  that  God  has  sent  him  to  her  for  her 
salvation.  Then  he  goes  to  the  castle,  where  he 
believes  himself  to  be  sent  on  the  double  mission 
of  saving  the  people — and  Freihild. 

In  the  second  act.  the  princes  celebrate  their 
victory  in  the  Duke's  castle.  After  some  pompous 
talk  on  the  part  of  the  official  Minnesdnger,  Gun- 
tram  is  invited  to  sing.  Discouraged  beforehand 
by  the  wickedness  of  his  audience,  and  feeling  that 
he  can  sing  to  no  purpose,  he  hesitates  and  is  on  the 
point  of  leaving  them.  But  Freihild's  sadness  holds 
him  back,  and  for  her  sake  he  sings.  His  song  is  at 
first  calm  and  measured,  and  expresses  the  melan- 
choly that  fills  him  in  the  midst  of  a  feast  which 
celebrates  triumphant  power.  He  then  loses  him- 
self in  dreams,  and  sees  the  gentle  figure  of  Peace 
moving  among  the  company.  He  describes  her 
lovingly  and  with  youthful  tenderness,  which 
approaches  ecstasy  as  he  draws  a  picture  of  the 


RICHARD   STRAUSS  149 

ideal  life  of  humanity  made  free.    Then  he  paints 
War  and  Death,  and  the  disorder  and  darkness  that 
they  spread  over  the  world.     He  addresses  himself 
directly  to  the  Prince  ;  he  shows  him  his  duty,  and 
how  the  love  of  his  people  would  be  his  recompense  ; 
he  threatens  him  with  the  hate  of  the  unhappy  who 
are  driven  to  despair  ;    and,  finally,  he  urges  the 
nobles  to  rebuild  the  towns,  to  liberate  their  prisoners, 
and  to  come  to  the  aid  of  their  subjects.    His  song 
is  ended  amid  the  profound  emotion  of  his  audience. 
Duke  Robert,  feeling  the  danger  of  these  outspoken 
words,  orders  his  men  to  seize  the  singer  ;   but  the 
vassals  side  with  Guntram.    At  this  juncture  news 
is  brought  that  the  peasants  have  renewed  the 
attack.    Robert  calls  his  men  to  arms,  but  Guntram, 
who  feels  that  he  will  be  supported  by  those  around 
him,  orders  Robert's  arrest.    The  Duke  draws  his 
sword,  but  Guntram  kills  him.     Then  a  sudden 
change    comes    over    Guntram' s    spirit,    which    is 
explain-ed  in  the  third  act.    In  the  scene  that  follows 
he  speaks  no  word,  his  sword  falls  from  his  hand, 
and  he  lets  his  enemies  again  assume  their  authority 
over  the  crowd  ;  he  allows  himself  to  be  bound  and 
taken  to  prison,  while  the  band  of  nobles  noisily 
disperses  to  fight  against  the  rebels.     But  Freihild 
is  full  of  an  unaffected  and  almost  savage  joy  at  her 
dehverance  by  Guntram's  sword.     Love  for  Gun- 
tram fills  her  heart,  and  her  one  desire  is  to  save 

him. 

The  third  act  takes  place  in  the  prison  of  the 
chateau  ;  and  it  is  a  surprising,  uncertain,  and  very 
curious  act.    It  is  not  a  logical  result  of  the  action 


150  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

that  has  preceded  it.  One  feels  a  sudden  commotion 
in  the  poet's  ideas,  a  crisis  of  feehng  which  disturbed 
him  even  as  he  wrote,  and  a  difficulty  which  he  did 
not  succeed  in  solving.  The  new  light  towards 
which  he  w^as  beginning  to  move  appears  very 
clearly.  Strauss  was  too  advanced  in  the  composi- 
tion of  his  work  to  escape  the  neo-Christian  renounce- 
ment w^hich  had  to  finish  the  drama  ;  he  could  only 
have  avoided  that  by  completely  remodelling  his 
characters.  So  Guntram  rejects  Freihild's  love. 
He  sees  he  has  fallen,  even  as  the  others,  under  the 
curse  of  sin.  He  had  preached  charity  to  others 
when  he  himself  was  full  of  egoism  ;  he  had  killed 
Robert  rather  to  satisfy  his  instinctive  and  animal 
jealousy  than  to  deliver  the  people  from  a  tyrant. 
So  he  renounces  his  desires,  and  expiates  the  sin 
of  being  alive  by  retirement  from  the  world.  But 
the  interest  of  the  act  does  not  lie  in  this  anticipated 
denouement,  which  since  Parsifal  has  become  rather 
common ;  it  lies  in  another  scene,  which  has 
evidently  been  inserted  at  the  last  moment,  and 
which  is  uncomfortably  out  of  tune  wdth  the  action, 
though  in  a  singularly  grand  way.  This  scene  gives 
us  a  dialogue  between  Guntram  and  his  former 
companion,  Friedhold. ^  Friedhold  had  initiated  him 
in  former  days,  and  he  now  comes  to  reproach  him 
for  his  crime,  and  to  bring  him  before  the  Order,  who 
will  judge  him.  In  the  original  version  of  the  poem 
Guntram  complies,  and  sacrifices  his  passion  to  his 
vow.    But  while  Strauss  had  been  travelling  in  the 

^   Some  people  have  tried  to  see  Alexander  Ritter's  thoughts 
in  Friedhold,  as  they  have  seen  Strauss's  thoughts  in  Guntram. 


RICHARD   STRAUSS  I5t 

East  he  had  conceived  a  sudden  horror  for  this 
Christian  annihilation  of  will,  and  Guntram  revolts 
along  with  him,  and  refuses  to  submit  to  the  rules 
of  his  Order.  He  breaks  his  lute — a  symbol  of 
false  hope  in  the  redemption  of  humanity  through 
faith — and  rouses  himself  from  the  glorious  dreams 
in  which  he  used  to  believe,  for  he  sees  they  are 
shadows  that  are  scattered  by  the  light  of  real  life. 
He  does  not  abjure  his  former  vows  ;  but  he  is  not 
the  same  man  he  was  when  he  made  them.  While 
his  experience  was  immature  he  was  able  to  believe 
that  a  man  ought  to  submit  himself  to  rules,  and 
that  life  should  be  governed  by  laws.  A  single  hour 
has  enlightened  him.  Now  he  is  free  and  alone — 
alone  with  his  spirit.  "  I  alone  can  lessen  my  suffer- 
ing ;  I  alone  can  expiate  my  crime.  Through  myself 
alone  God  speaks  to  me  ;  to  me  alone  God  speaks. 
Ewig  einsam."  It  is  the  proud  awakening  of 
individualism,  the  pow^erful  pessimism  of  the 
Super-man.  Such  an  expression  of  feehng  gives 
the  character  of  action  to  renouncement  and  even 
to  negation  itself,  for  it  is  a  strong  affirmation  of 
the  will. 

I  have  dwelt  rather  at  length  on  this  drama  on 
account  of  the  real  value  of  its  thought  and,  above 
all,  on  account  of  what  one  may  call  its  autobio- 
graphical interest.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Strauss's 
mind  began  to  take  more  definite  form.  His  further 
experience  will  develop  that  form  still  more,  but 
without  making  any  important  change  in  it. 

Guntram  was  the  cause  of  bitter  disappointment 
to  its  author.    He  did  not  succeed  in  getting  it  pro- 


152  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

duced  at  Munich,  for  the  orchestra  and  singers 
declared  that  the  music  could  not  be  performed. 
It  is  even  said  that  they  got  an  eminent  critic  to 
draw  up  a  formal  document,  which  they  sent  to 
Strauss,  certifying  that  Gtmfram  was  not  meant  to 
be  sung.  The  chief  difficulty  was  the  length  of  the 
principal  part,  which  took  up  by  itself,  in  its  musings 
and  discourses,  the  equivalent  of  an  act  and  a  half. 
Some  of  its  monologues,  like  the  song  in  the  second 
act,  last  half  an  hour  on  end.  Nevertheless,  Gimtram 
was  performed  at  Weimar  on  i6  May,  1894.  A  little 
while  after\vards  Strauss  married  the  singer  who 
played  Freihild,  Pauline  de  Ahna,  w^ho  had  also 
created  Elizabeth  in  Tannhduser  at  Bayreuth,  and 
w^ho  has  since  devoted  herself  to  the  interpretation 
of  her  husband's  Lieder. 


But  the  rancour  of  his  failure  at  the  theatre  still 
remained  with  Strauss,  and  he  turned  his  attention 
again  to  the  symphonic  poem,  in  which  he  showed 
more  and  more  marked  dramatic  tendencies,  and  a 
soul  which  grew  daily  prouder  and  more  scornful. 
You  should  hear  him  speak  in  cold  disdain  of  the 
theatre-going  public — "  that  collection  of  bankers 
and  tradespeople  and  miserable  seekers  after 
pleasure  " — to  know  the  sore  that  this  triumphant 
artist  hides.  For  not  only  was  the  theatre  long 
closed  to  him,  but,  by  an  additional  irony,  he  was 
obliged  to  conduct  musical  rubbish  at  the  opera  in 
Berlin,  on  account  of  the  poor  taste  in  music — really 
of  Royal  origin — that  prevailed  there. 


RICHARD   STRAUSS  l53 

The  first  great  symphony  of  this  new  period  was 
Till  Eulenspiegel' s  lustige  Streiche,  nach  alter  Schel- 
menweise,  in  Rondeauform  ("Till  Eulenspiegel's  Merry 
Pranks,  according  to  an  old  legend,  in  rondeau  form  ") , 
op.  28.^  Here  his  disdain  is  as  yet  only  expressed 
by  witty  bantering,  which  scoffs  at  the  world's 
conventions.  This  figure  of  Till,  this  devil  of  a 
joker,  the  legendary  hero  of  Germany  and  Flanders, 
is  little  known  with  us  in  France.  And  so  Strauss's 
music  loses  much  of  its  point,  for  it  claims  to  recall 
a  series  of  adventures  which  we  know  nothing  about 
— Till  crossing  the  market  place  and  smacking  his 
whip  at  the  good  women  there  ;  Till  in  priestly 
attire  delivering  a  homely  sermon  ;  Till  making  love 
to  a  young  woman  who  rebuffs  him  ;  Till  making  a 
fool  of  the  pedants  ;  Till  tried  and  hung.  Strauss's 
liking  to  present,  by  musical  pictures,  sometimes  a 
character,  sometimes  a  dialogue,  or  a  situation,  or 
a  landscape,  or  an  idea — that  is  to  say,  the  most 
volatile  and  varied  impressions  of  his  capricious 
spirit — is  very  marked  here.  It  is  true  that  he  falls 
back  on  several  popular  subjects,  whose  meaning 
would  be  very  easily  grasped  in  Germany  ;  and 
that  he  develops  them,  not  quite  in  the  strict  form 
of  a  rondeau,  as  he  pretends,  but  still  with  a  certain 
method,  so  that  apart  from  a  few  frolics,  which  are 
unintelligible  without  a  programme,  the  whole  has 
real  mu/cal  unity.  This  symphony,  which  is  a  great 
favourite  in  Germany,  seems  to  me  less  original  than 
some  of  his  other  compositions.     It  sounds  rather 

^  Composed  in  1894-95,  and  played  for  the  first  time  at 
Cologne  in  1895. 


154  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

like  a  refined  piece  of  Mendelssohn's,  with  curious 
harmonies  and  very  complicated  instrumentation. 

There  is  much  more  grandeur  and  originality  in 
his  Also  sprach  Zarathustra,  Tondichtung  fret,  nach 
Nietzsche  ("  Thus  spake  Zarathustra,  a  free  Tone- 
poem,  after  Nietzsche"),  op.  30. ^  Its  sentiments  are 
more  broadly  human,  and  the  programme  that 
Strauss  has  followed  never  loses  itself  in  picturesque 
or  anecdotic  details,  but  is  planned  on  expressive  and 
noble  lines.  Strauss  protests  his  own  liberty  in  the 
face  of  Nietzsche's.  He  wishes  to  represent  the 
different  stages  of  development  that  a  free  spirit 
passes  through  in  order  to  arrive  at  that  of  Super- 
man. These  ideas  are  purely  personal,  and  are  not 
part  of  some  system  of  philosophy.  The  sub-titles 
of  the  work  are :  Von  den  Hinterweltern  ("Of  Religious 
Ideas"),  Von  der  grossen  Sehnsticht  ("Of  Supreme 
Aspiration"),  Von  den  Freuden  und  Leidenschaften 
("Of  Joys  and  Passions*'),  Das  Grablied  ("The 
Grave  Song"),  Von  der  Wissenschaft  ("Of  Know- 
ledge"), Der  Genesendi  ("The  Convalescent" — 
the  soul  delivered  of  its  desires).  Das  Tanzlied 
("Dancing  Song"),  Nachilied  ("Night  Song"). 
We  are  shown  a  man  who,  worn  out  by  trying 
to  solve  the  riddle  of  the  universe,  seeks  refuge 
in  religion.  Then  he  revolts  against  ascetic  ideas, 
and  gives  way  madly  to  his  passions.  But  he 
is  quickly  sated  and  disgusted  and,  weary  to  death, 
he  tries  science,  but  rejects  it  again,  and  succeeds  in 
ridding   himself   of   the   uneasiness   its   knowledge 

^  Composed  in  1895-96,  and  performed  for  the  first  time  at 
Frankf ort-on- Main  in  November,  1S96. 


RICHARD    STRAUSS  I55 

brings  by  laughter — the  master  of  the  universe — 
and  the  merry  dance,  that  dance  of  the  universe 
where  all  the  human  sentiments  enter  hand-in-hand 
— rehgious  beliefs,  unsatisfied  desires,  passions, 
disgust,  and  joy.  "  Lift  up  your  hearts  on  high, 
my  brothers  !  Higher  still !  And  mind  you  don't 
forget  your  legs  !  I  have  canonised  laughter.  You 
super-men,  learn  to  laugh!  "  ^  And  the  dance  dies 
away  and  is  lost  in  ethereal  regions,  and  Zarathustra 
is  lost  to  sight  while  dancing  in  distant  worlds.  But 
if  he  has  solved  the  riddle  of  the  universe  for  himself, 
he  has  not  solved  it  for  other  men  ;  and  so,  in  con- 
trast to  the  confident  knowledge  which  fills  the 
music,  we  get  the  sad  note  of  interrogation  at  the 
end. 

There  are  few  subjects  that  offer  richer  material 
for  musical  expression.  Strauss  has  treated  it  with 
power  and  dexterity  ;  he  has  preserved  unity  in 
this  chaos  of  passions,  by  contrasting  the  Sehnsucht 
of  man  with  the  impassive  strength  of  Nature.  As 
for  the  boldness  of  his  conceptions,  I  need  hardly 
remind  those  who  heard  the  poem  at  the  Cirque 
d'£te  of  the  intricate  "  Fugue  of  Knowledge,"  the 
trills  of  the  wood  wind  and  the  trumpets  that  voice 
Zarathustra's  laugh,  the  dance  of  the  universe,  and 
the  audacity  of  the  conclusion  which,  in  the  key  of 
B  major,  finishes  up  with  a  note  of  interrogation, 
in  C  natural,  repeated  three  times. 

I  am  far  from  thinking  that  the  symphony  is 
without  a  fault.  The  themes  are  of  unequal  value  : 
some  are  quite  commonplace ;  and,  in  a  general  way, 

^  Nietzsche. 


156  TIUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

the  working  up  of  the  composition  is  superior  to  its 
underlying  thought.  I  shall  come  back  later  on  to 
certain  faults  in  Strauss's  music  ;  here  I  only  want 
to  consider  the  overflowing  life  and  feverish  joy 
that  set  these  worlds  spinning = 

Zarathustra  shows  the  progress  of  scornful  indi- 
vidualism in  Strauss — "  the  spirit  that  hates  the 
dogs  of  the  populace  and  all  that  abortive  and  gloomy 
breed ;  the  spirit  of  wild  laughter  that  dances  like  a 
tempest  as  gaily  on  marshes  and  sadness  as  it  does 
in  fields."  ^  That  spirit  laughs  at  itself  and  at  its 
idealism  in  the  Don  Quixote  of  1897,  fantastische 
Variationen  iiber  ein  Thema  ritterlichen  Charakters 
{"  Don  Quixote,  fantastic  variations  on  a  theme  of 
knightly  character"),  op.  35;  and  that  symphony 
marks,  I  think,  the  extreme  point  to  which  pro- 
gramme music  may  be  carried.  In  no  other  work 
does  Strauss  give  better  proof  of  his  prodigious 
cleverness,  intelligence,  and  wit ;  and  I  say  sin- 
cerely that  there  is  not  a  work  where  so  much  force 
is  expended  with  so  great  a  loss  for  the  sake  of  a 
game  and  a  musical  joke  which  lasts  forty-five 
minutes,  and  has  given  the  author,  the  executants, 
and  the  public  a  good  deal  of  tiring  work.  These 
symphonic  poems  are  most  difficult  to  play  on 
account  of  the  complexity,  the  independence,  and 
the  fantastic  caprices  of  the  different  parts.  Judge 
for  yourself  what  the  author  expects  to  get  out  of 
the  music  by  these  few  extracts  from  the  pro- 
gramme : — 

The  introduction  represents  Don  Quixote  buried 

^  Nietzsche,  Zarathustra. 


RICHARD   STRAUSS  l57 

in  books  of  chivalrous  romance ;  and  we  have  to 
see  in  the  music,  as  we  do  in  little  Flemish  and 
Dutch  pictures,  not  only  Don  Quixote's  features, 
but  the  words  of  the  books  he  reads.  Sometimes  it 
is  the  story  of  a  knight  who  is  fighting  a  giant, 
sometimes  the  adventures  of  a  knight-errant  who 
has  dedicated  himself  to  the  services  of  a  lady, 
sometimes  it  is  a  nobleman  who  has  given  his  life 
in  fulfilment  of  a  vow  to  atone  for  his  sins.  Don 
Quixote's  mind  becomes  confused  (and  our  own 
with  it)  over  all  these  stories  ;  he  is  quite  distracted. 
He  leaves  home  in  company  with  his  squire.  The 
two  figures  are  drawn  with  great  spirit ;  the  one  is 
an  old  Spaniard,  stiff,  languishing,  distrustful,  a  bit 
of  a  poet,  rather  undecided  in  his  opinions  but 
obstinate  when  his  mind  is  once  made  up  ;  the  other 
is  a  fat,  jovial  peasant,  a  cunning  fellow,  given  to 
repeating  himself  in  a  waggish  way  and  quoting 
droll  proverbs — translated  in  the  music  by  short- 
winded  phrases  that  always  return  to  the  point 
they  started  from.  The  adventures  begin.  Here 
are  the  windmills  (trills  from  the  violins  and  wood 
wind),  and  the  bleating  army  of  the  grand  emperor, 
Alifanfaron  (tremolos  from  the  wood  wind)  ;  and 
here,  in  the  third  variation,  is  a  dialogue  between 
the  knight  and  his  squire,  from  which  we  are  to 
guess  that  Sancho  questions  his  master  on  the 
advantages  of  a  chivalrous  life,  for  they  seem  to 
him  doubtful.  Don  Quixote  talks  to  him  of  glory 
and  honour  ;  but  Sancho  has  no  thought  for  it.  In 
reply  to  these  grand  words  he  urges  the  superiority 
of  sure  profits,  fat  meals,   and  sounding  money. 


158  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Then  the  adventures  begin  again.  The  two  com- 
panions fly  through  the  air  on  wooden  horses  ;  and 
the  illusion  of  this  giddy  voyage  is  given  by  chromatic 
passages  on  the  flutes,  harps,  kettledrums,  and  a 
"  windmachine,"  while  "  the  tremolo  of  the  double 
basses  on  the  key-note  shows  that  the  horses  have 
never  left  the  earth."  ^ 

But  I  must  stop.  I  have  said  enough  to  show 
the  fun  the  author  is  indulging  in.  WTien  one  hears 
the  work  one  cannot  help  admiring  the  composer's 
technical  knowledge,  skill  in  orchestration,  and 
sense  of  humour.  And  one  is  all  the  more  surprised 
that  he  confines  himself  to  the  illustration  of  texts  ^ 
when  he  is  so  capable  of  creating  comic  and  dramatic 
matter  without  it.  Although  Don  Quixote  is  a 
marvel  of  skill  and  a  very  wonderful  work,  in  which 
Strauss  has  developed  a  suppler  and  richer  style, 
it  marks,  to  my  mind,  a  progress  in  his  technique 
and  a  backward  step  in  his  mind,  for  he  seems  to 
have  adopted  the  decadent  conceptions  of  an  art 
suited  to  playthings  and  trinkets  to  please  a  frivolous 
and  affected  society. 

In  Heldenleben  ("The  Life  of  a  Hero"),  op.  40, ^ 
he  recovers  himself,  and  with  a  stroke  of  his  wings 
reaches  the  summits.  Here  there  is  no  foreign  text 
for  the  music  to  study  or  illustrate  or  transcribe. 
Instead,  there  is  lofty  passion  and  an  heroic  will 

1  Arthur  Hahn,  Der  Musikfiihrey  :   Don  Quixote,  Frankfort. 

2  At  the  head  of  each  variation  Strauss  has  marked  on  the 
score  the  chapter  of  "  Don  Quixote  "  that  he  is  interpreting. 

3  Finished  in  December,  1898,  Performed  for  the  first  time 
at  Frankfort-on-Main  on  3  March,  1899,  PubUshed  by  Leuckart, 
Leipzic. 


RICHARD   STRAUSS  159 

gradually  developing  itself  and  breaking  down  all 
obstacles.  Without  doubt  Strauss  had  a  programme 
in  his  mind,  but  he  said  to  me  himself:  "  You  have 
no  need  to  read  it.  It  is  enough  to  know  that  the 
hero  is  there  fighting  against  his  enemies."  I  do 
not  know  how  far  that  is  true,  or  if  parts  of  the 
symphony  would  not  be  rather  obscure  to  anyone 
who  followed  it  without  the  text ;  but  this  speech 
seems  to  prove  that  he  has  understood  the  dangers 
of  the  literary  symphony,  and  that  he  is  striving 
for  pure  music. 

Heldenleben  is  divided  into  six  chapters  :  The 
Hero,  The  Hero's  Adversaries,  The  Hero's  Com- 
panion, The  Field  of  Battle,  The  Peaceful  Labours 
of  the  Hero,  The  Hero's  Retirement  from  the  World, 
and  the  Achievement  of  His  Ideal.  It  is  an  extra- 
ordinary work,  drunken  with  heroism,  colossal,  half 
barbaric,  trivial,  and  sublime.  An  Homeric  hero 
struggles  among  the  sneers  of  a  stupid  crowd,  a  herd 
of  brawling  and  hobbling  ninnies.  A  violin  solo,  in 
a  sort  of  concerto,  describes  the  seductions,  the 
coquetry,  and  the  degraded  wickedness  of  woman. 
Then  strident  trumpet-blasts  sound  the  attack  ; 
and  it  is  beyond  me  to  give  an  idea  of  the  terrible 
charge  of  cavalry  that  follows,  which  makes  the 
earth  tremble  and  our  hearts  leap ;  nor  can  I 
describe  how  an  iron  determination  leads  to  the 
storming  of  towns,  and  all  the  tumultuous  din  and 
uproar  of  battle — the  most  splendid  battle  that  has 
ever  been  painted  in  music.  At  its  first  performance 
in  Germany  I  saw  people  tremble  as  they  listened 
to  it,  and  some  rose  up  suddenly  and  made  violent 


l60  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

gestures  quite  unconsciously.  I  myself  had  a  strange 
feeling  of  giddiness,  as  if  an  ocean  had  been  upheaved, 
and  I  thought  that  for  the  first  time  for  thirty  years 
Germany  had  found  a  poet  of  Victory. 

Heldenleben  would  be  in  every  way  one  of  the 
masterpieces  of  musical  composition  if  a  literary 
error  had  not  suddenly  cut  short  the  soaring  flight 
of  its  most  impassioned  pages,  at  the  supreme  point 
of  interest  in  the  movement,  in  order  to  follow  the 
programme  ;  though,  besides  this,  a  certain  cold- 
ness, perhaps  weariness,  creeps  in  towards  the  end. 
The  victorious  hero  perceives  that  he  has  conquered 
in  vain :  the  baseness  and  stupidity  of  men  have 
remained  unaltered.  He  stifles  his  anger,  and  scorn- 
fully accepts  the  situation.  Then  he  seeks  refuge  in 
the  peace  of  Nature.  The  creative  force  within  him 
flows  out  in  imaginative  works  ;  and  here  Richard 
Strauss,  with  a  daring  warranted  only  by  his  genius, 
represents  these  works  by  reminiscences  of  his  own 
compositions,  and  Don  Juan,  Macbeth,  Tod  und 
Verkldnmg,  Till,  Zarathustra,  Don  Quixote,  Gun- 
tram,  and  even  his  Lieder,  associate  themselves  with 
the  hero  whose  story  he  is  telling.  At  times  a  storm 
will  remind  this  hero  of  his  combats  ;  but  he  also 
remembers  his  moments  of  love  and  happiness,  and 
his  soul  is  quieted.  Then  the  music  unfolds  itself 
serenely,  and  rises  with  calm  strength  to  the  closing 
chord  of  triumph,  which  is  placed  like  a  crown  of 
glory  on  the  hero's  head. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Beethoven's  ideas  have 
often  inspired,  stimulated,  and  guided  Strauss's 
own  ideas.    One  feels  an  indescribable  reflection  of 


RICHARD   STRAUSS  l6l 

the  first  Heroic  and  of  the  Ode  to  Joy  in  the  key  of 
the  first  part  (E  flat) ;  and  the  last  part  recalls,  even 
more  forcibly,  certain  of  Beethoven's  Lieder.  But 
the  heroes  of  the  two  composers  are  very  different  : 
Beethoven's  hero  is  more  classical  and  more  rebel- 
lious ;  and  Strauss's  hero  is  mxore  concerned  with 
the  exterior  world  and  his  enemies,  his  conquests 
are  achieved  with  greater  difficulty,  and  his  triumph 
is  wilder  in  consequence.  If  that  good  Oulibicheff 
pretends  to  see  the  burning  of  Moscow  in  a  dis- 
cord in  the  first  Heroic,  what  would  he  find  here  ? 
What  scenes  of  burning  towns,  what  battlefields  ! 
Besides  that  there  is  cutting  scorn  and  a  mis- 
chievous laughter  in  Heldenleben  that  is  never 
heard  in  Beethoven.  There  is,  in  fact,  little 
kindness  in  Strauss's  work ;  it  is  the  work  ©f  a 
disdainful  hero. 

In  considering  Strauss's  music  as  a  whole,  one  is 
at  first  struck  by  the  diversity  of  his  style.  The 
North  and  the  South  mingle ;  and  in  his  melodies 
one  feels  the  attraction  of  the  sun.  Something 
ItaUan  had  crept  into  Tristan;  but  how  much 
more  of  Italy  there  is  in  the  work  of  this  disciple  of 
Nietzsche.  The  phrases  are  often  Itahan  and  their 
harmonies  ultra-Germanic.  Perhaps  one  of  the 
greatest  charms  of  Strauss's  art  is  that  we  are  able 
to  watch  the  rent  in  the  dark  clouds  of  Gernian 
polyphony,  and  see  shining  through  it  the  smiling 
line  of  an  Itahan  coast  and  the  gay  dancers  on  its 
shore.     This  is  not  merely  a  vague  analogy.     It 


l62  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

would  be  easy,  if  idle,  to  notice  unmistakable 
reminiscences  of  France  and  Italy  even  in  Strauss's 
most  advanced  works,  such  as  Zarathustra  and 
Heldenleben.  Mendelssohn,  Gounod,  Wagner,  Ros- 
sini, and  Mascagni  elbow  one  another  strangely. 
But  these  disparate  elements  have  a  softer  outline 
when  the  work  is  taken  as  a  whole,  for  they  have 
been  absorbed  and  controlled  by  the  composer's 
imagination. 

His  orchestra  is  not  less  composite.  It  is  not  a 
compact  and  serried  mass  like  Wagner's  Macedonian 
phalanxes  ;  it  is  parcelled  out  and  as  divided  as 
possible.  Each  part  aims  at  independence  and 
works  as  it  thinks  best,  without  apparently  troubling 
about  the  other  parts.  Sometimes  it  seems,  as  it 
did  when  reading  Berlioz,  that  the  execution  must 
result  in  incoherence,  and  weaken  the  effect.  But 
somehow  the  result  is  very  satisfying.  "  Now 
doesn't  that  sound  well  ?  "  said  Strauss  to  me  with 
a  smile,  just  after  he  had  finished  conducting  Helden- 
leben^ 

But  it  is  especially  in  Strauss's  subjects  that 
caprice  and  a  disordered  imagination,  the  enemy  of 
all  reason,  seem  to  reign.    We  have  seen  that  these 


^  The  composition  of  the  orchestra  in  Strauss's  later  works 
is  as  follows  :  In  Zarathustra  :  one  piccolo,  three  flutes, 
three  oboes,  one  English  horn,  one  clarinet  in  E  flat,  two 
clarinets  in  B,  one  bass-clarinet  in  B,  three  bassoons,  one 
double-bassoon,  six  horns  in  F,  four  trumpets  in  C,  three  trom- 
bones, three  bass-tuba,  kettledrums,  big  drum,  cymbals,  triangle, 
chime  of  bells,  bell  in  E,  organ,  two  harps,  and  strings.  In 
Heldenleben  :  eight  horns  instead  of  six,  live  trumpets  instead 
of  four  (two  in  E  flat,  three  in  B)  ;  and,  in  addition,  military 
(irums, 


RICHARD   STRAUSS  163 

poems  try  to  express  in  turn,  or  even  simultaneously, 
literary  texts,  pictures,  anecdotes,  philosophical 
ideas,  and  the  personal  sentiments  of  the  composer. 
What  unity  is  there  in  the  adventures  of  Don 
Quixote  or  Till  Eulenspiegel  ?  And  yet  unity  is 
there,  not  in  the  subjects,  but  in  the  mind  that 
deals  with  them.  And  these  descriptive  symphonies 
with  their  very  diffuse  literary  life  are  vindicated 
by  their  musical  life,  which  is  much  more  logical 
and  concentrated.  The  caprices  of  the  poet  are 
held  in  rein  by  the  musician.  The  whimsical  Till 
disports  himself  "  after  the  old  form  of  rondeau," 
and  the  folly  of  Don  Quixote  is  told  in  "  ten 
variations  on  a  chivalrous  theme,  with  an  intro- 
duction and  finale."  In  this  way,  Strauss's  art, 
one  of  the  most  literary  and  descriptive  in  exist- 
ence, is  strongly  distinguished  from  others  of  the 
same  kind  by  the  solidarity  of  its  musical  fabric, 
in  which  one  feels  the  true  musician — a  musician 
brought  up  on  the  great  masters,  and  a  classic  in 
spite  of  everything. 

And  so  throughout  that  music  a  strong  unity  is 
felt  among  the  unruly  and  often  incongruous 
elements.  It  is  the  reflection,  so  it  seems  to  me,  of 
the  soul  of  the  composer.  Its  unity  is  not  a  matter 
of  what  he  feels,  but  a  matter  of  what  he  wishes. 
His  emotion  is  much  less  interesting  to  him  than 
his  will,  and  it  is  less  intense,  and  often  quite 
devoid  of  any  personal  character.  His  restless- 
ness seems  to  come  from  Schumann,  his  religious 
feeling  from  Mendelssohn,  his  voluptuousness  from 
Gounod  or  the  Italian  masters,  his  passion  from 


164  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Wagner.  1  But  his  will  is  heroic,  dominating, 
eager,  and  powerful  to  a  sublime  degree.  And  that 
is  why  Richard  Strauss  is  noble  and,  at  present, 
quite  unique.  One  feels  in  him  a  force  that  has 
dominion  over  men. 


It  is  through  this  heroic  side  that  he  may  be 
considered  as  an  inheritor  of  some  of  Beethoven's 
and  Wagner's  thought.  It  is  this  heroic  side  which 
makes  him  a  poet — one  of  the  greatest  perhaps  in 
modern  Germany,  who  sees  herself  reflected  in  him 
and  in  his  hero.    Let  us  consider  this  hero. 

He  is  an  idealist  with  unbounded  faith  in  the 
power  of  the  mind  and  the  liberating  virtue  of  art. 
This  idealism  is  at  first  religious,  as  in  Tod  und 
Verkldrufig,  and  tender  and  compassionate  as  a 
w^oman,  and  full  of  youthful  illusions,  as  in  Guntram. 
Then  it  becomes  vexed  and  indignant  with  the 
baseness  of  the  world  and  the  difficulties  it  encounters. 
Its  scorn  increases,  and  becomes  sarcastic  {Till 
Eulen Spiegel)  ;  it  is  exasperated  with  years  of  con- 
flict, and,  in  increasing  bitterness,  develops  into  a 
contemptuous  heroism.  How  Strauss's  laugh  whips 
and  stings  us  in  Zarathustra  I  How  his  will  bruises 
and  cuts  us  in  Heldenlehen !  Now^  that  he  has 
proved  his  power  by  victory,  his  pride  knows  no 
limit ;  he  is  elated  and  is  unable  to  see  that  his 
lofty  visions  have  become  realities.    But  the  people 

^  In  Guntram  one  could  even  believe  that  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  use  a  phrase  in  Tristan,  as  if  he  could  not  find  any- 
thing better  to  express  passionate  desire. 


RICHARD   STRAUSS  165 

whose  spirit  he  reflects  see  it.  There  are  germs  of 
morbidity  in  Germany  to-day,  a  frenzy  of  pride,  a 
behef  in  self,  and  a  scorn  for  others  that  recalls 
France  in  the  seventeenth  century.  ' '  Dem  Deutschen 
gehort  die  Welt"  ("Germany  possesses  the  world") 
calmly  say  the  prints  displayed  in  the  shop  windows 
in  Berlin.  But  when  one  arrives  at  this  point  the 
mind  becomes  delirious.  All  genius  is  raving  mad 
if  it  comes  to  that ;  but  Beethoven's  madness  con- 
centrated itself  in  himself,  and  imagined  things  for 
his  own  enjoyment.  The  genius  of  many  contem- 
porary German  artists  is  an  aggressive  thing,  and  is 
characterised  by  its  destructive  antagonism.  The 
idealist  who  "  possesses  the  world "  is  liable  to 
dizziness.  He  was  made  to  rule  over  an  interior 
world.  The  splendour  of  the  exterior  images  that 
he  is  called  upon  to  govern  dazzles  him  ;  and,  like 
Caesar,  he  goes  astray.  Germany  had  hardly  attained 
the  position  of  empire  of  the  world  when  she  found 
Nietzsche's  voice  and  that  of  the  deluded  artists  of 
the  Deutsches  Theater  and  the  Secession.  Now  there 
is  the  grandiose  music  of  Richard  Strauss. 

What  is  all  this  fury  leading  to  ?  What  does  this 
heroism  aspire  to  ?  This  force  of  will,  bitter  and 
strained,  grows  faint  when  it  has  reached  its  goal, 
or  even  before  that.  It  does  not  know  what  to  do 
with  its  victory.  It  disdains  it,  does  not  believe  in 
it,  or  grows  tired  of  it.^ 

Like  Michelangelo's  Victory,  it  has  set  its  knee  on 

1  "  The  German  spirit,  which  but  a  Uttle  while  back  had  the 
will  to  dominate  Europe,  the  force  to  govern  Europe,  has  finally 
made  up  its  mind  to  abandon  it." — Nietzsche. 


l66  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

the  captive^s  back,  and  seems  ready  to  despatch 
him.  But  suddenly  it  stops,  hesitates,  and  looks 
about  with  uncertain  eyes,  and  its  expression  is  one 
of  languid  disgust,  as  though  weariness  had  seized  it. 

And  this  is  how  the  work  of  Richard  Strauss 
appears  to  me  up  to  the  present.  Guntram  kills 
Duke  Robert,  and  immediately  lets  fall  his  sword. 
The  frenzied  laugh  of  Zarathustra  ends  in  an  avowal 
of  discouraged  impotence.  The  delirious  passion  of 
Don  Juan  dies  away  in  nothingness.  Don  Quixote 
when  dying  forswears  his  illusions.  Even  the  Hero 
himself  admits  the  futility  of  his  work,  and  seeks 
oblivion  in  an  indifferent  Nature.  Nietzsche, 
speaking  of  the  artists  of  our  time,  laughs  at  "  those 
Tantaluses  of  the  will,  rebels  and  enemies  of  laws, 
who  come,  broken  in  spirit,  and  fall  at  the  foot  of 
the  cross  of  Christ."  Whether  it  is  for  the  sake  of 
the  Cross  or  Nothingness,  these  heroes  renounce  their 
victories  in  disgust  and  despair,  or  with  a  resignation 
that  is  sadder  still.  It  was  not  thus  that  Beethoven 
overcame  his  sorrows.  Sad  adagios  make  their 
lament  in  the  middle  of  his  symphonies,  but  a  note 
of  joy  and  triumph  is  always  sounded  at  the  end. 
His  work  is  the  triumph  of  a  conquered  hero  ;  that 
of  Strauss  is  the  defeat  of  a  conquering  hero.  This 
irresoluteness  of  the  will  can  be  "still  more  clearly 
seen  in  contemporary  German  literature,  and  in 
particular  in  the  author  of  Die  versunkene  Glocke. 
But  it  is  more  striking  in  Strauss,jbecause  he  is  more 
heroic.  And  so  we  get  all  this  display  of  superhuman 
will,  and  the  end  is  only  "  My  desire  is  gone  !  " 

In  this  lies  the  undying  worm  of  German  thought 


RICHARD   STRAUSS  167 

— I  am  speaking  of  the  thought  of  the  choice  few 
who  enhghten  the  present  and  anticipate  the  future. 
I  see  an  heroic  people,  intoxicated  by  its  triumphs, 
by  its  great  riches,  by  its  numbers,  by  its  force,  which 
clasps  the  world  in  its  great  arms  and  subjugates  it, 
and  then  stops,  fatigued  by  its  conquest,  and  asks : 
"  Why  have  I  conquered  ?  '' 


HUGO   WOLF 

The  more  one  learns  of  the  history  of  great  artists, 
the  more  one  is  struck  by  the  immense  amount  of 
sadness  their  Hves  enclose.  Not  only  are  they  sub- 
jected to  the  trials  and  disappointments  of  ordinary 
Ufe — ^which  affect  them  more  cruelly  through  their 
greater  sensitiveness — but  their  surroundings  are 
like  a  desert,  because  they  are  twenty,  thirty,  fifty, 
or  even  hundreds  of  years  in  advance  of  their  con- 
temporaries ;  and  they  are  often  condemned  to 
despairing  efforts,  not  to  conquer  the  world,  but  to 
live. 

These  highly-strung  natures  are  rarely  able  to 
keep  up  this  incessant  struggle  for  very  long  ;  and 
the  finest  genius  may  have  to  reckon  with  illness 
and  misery  and  even  premature  death.  And  yet 
there  were  people  like  Mozart  and  Schumann  and 
Weber  who  were  happy  in  spite  of  everything, 
because  they  had  been  able  to  keep  their  soul's 
health  and  the  joy  of  creation  until  the  end  ;  and 
though  their  bodies  were  worn  out  with  fatigue  and 
privation,  a  light  was  kept  burning  which  sent  its 
rays  far  into  the  darkness  of  their  night.  There  are 
worse  destinies  ;  and  Beethoven,  though  he  was 
poor,  shut  up  within  himself,  and  deceived  in  his 
affections,  was  far  from  being  the  most  unhappy  of 
men.    In  his  case,  he  possessed  nothing  but  himself ; 

i68 


HUGO   WOLF  169 

but  he  possessed  himself  truly,  and  reigned  over  the 
world  that  was  within  him  ;  and  no  other  empire 
could  ever  be  compared  with  that  of  his  vast  imagin- 
ation, which  stretched  like  a  great  expanse  of  sky, 
where  tempests  raged.  Until  his  last  day  the  old 
Prometheus  in  him,  though  fettered  by  a  miserable 
body,  preserved  his  iron  force  unbroken.  When 
dying  during  a  storm,  his  last  gesture  was  one  of 
revolt ;  and  in  his  agony  he  raised  himself  on  his 
bed  and  shook  his  fist  at  the  sky.  And  so  he  fell, 
struck  down  by  a  single  blow  in  the  thick  of  the 
fight. 

But  what  shall  be  said  of  those  who  die  little  by 
little,  who  outlive  themselves,  and  watch  the  slow 
decay  of  their  souls  ? 

Such  was  the  fate  of  Hugo  Wolf,  whose  tragic 
destiny  has  assured  him  a  place  apart  in  the  hell  of 
great  musicians.^ 


He  was  born  at  Windischgratz  in  Styria,  13  March, 
i860.  He  was  the  fourth  son  of  a  currier — a  currier- 
musician,  like  old  Veit  Bach,  the  baker-musician, 
and  Haydn's  father,  the  wheelwright-musician. 
Philipp  Wolf  played  the  violin,  the  guitar,  and  the 
piano,  and  used  to  have  little  quintet  parties  at  his 

1  A  large  number  of  works  on  Hugo  Wolf  have  been  published 
in  Germany  since  his  death.  The  chief  is  the  great  biography  of 
Herr  Ernst  Decsey — Hugo  Wolf  (Berlin,  1903-4).  I  have  found 
this  book  of  great  service  ;  it  is  a  work  full  of  knowledge  and 
sympathy.  I  have  also  consulted  Herr  Paul  Miiller's  excellent 
little  pamphlet,  Hugo  Wolf  {Moderne  essays,  Berlin,  1904),  and 
the  collections  of  Wolf's  letters,  in  particular  his  letters  to 
Oskar  Grohe,  Emil  Kaufmann.  and  Hugo  Faisst. 


170  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

house,  in  which  he  played  the  first  violin,  Hugo 
the  second  violin,  Hugo's  brother  the  violoncello, 
an  uncle  the  horn,  and  a  friend  the  tenor  violin. 
The  musical  taste  of  the  country  was  not  properly 
German.  Wolf  was  a  Catholic  ;  and  his  taste  was 
not  formed,  like  that  of  most  German  musicians, 
by  books  of  chorales.  Besides  that,  in  Styria  they 
were  fond  of  playing  the  old  Italian  operas  of 
Rossini,  Bellini,  and  Donizetti.  Later  on.  Wolf  used 
to  like  to  think  that  he  had  a  few  drops  of  Latin 
blood  in  his  veins  ;  and  all  his  life  he  had  a  pre- 
dilection for  the  great  French  musicians. 

His  term  of  apprenticeship  was  not  marked  by 
anything  brilliant.  He  went  from  one  school  to 
another  without  being  kept  long  any\vhere.  And 
yet  he  was  not  a  worthless  lad  ;  but  he  was  always 
very  reserved,  little  caring  to  be  intimate  with 
others,  and  passionately  devoted  to  music.  His 
father  naturally  did  not  want  him  to  take  up  music 
as  a  profession  ;  and  he  had  the  same  struggles  that 
Berlioz  had.  Finally  he  succeeded  in  getting  per- 
mission from  his  family  to  go  to  Vienna,  and  he 
entered  the  Conservatoire  there  in  1875.  But  he 
was  not  any  the  happier  for  it,  and  at  the  end  of  two 
years  he  was  sent  away  for  being  unraly. 

"\^^at  was  to  be  done  ?  His  family  w^as  ruined, 
for  a  fire  had  demolished  their  little  possessions.  He 
felt  the  silent  reproaches  of  his  father  already 
weighing  upon  him — for  he  loved  his  father  dearly, 
and  remembered  the  sacrifices  he  had  made  for 
him.  He  did  not  wish  to  return  to  his  own  province ; 
indeed  he  could  not  return — that  would  have  been 


HUGO  WOLF  171 

death.  It  was  necessary  that  this  boy  of  seventeen 
should  find  some  means  of  earning  a  Uvehhood  and 
be  able  to  instruct  himself  at  the  same  time.  After 
his  expulsion  from  the  Conservatoire  he  attended 
no  other  school ;  he  taught  himself.  And  he  taught 
himself  wonderfully  ;  but  at  what  a  cost  !  The 
suffering  he  went  through  from  that  time  until  he 
was  thirty,  the  enormous  amount  of  energy  he  had 
to  expend  in  order  to  live  and  cultivate  the  fine 
spirit  of  poetry  that  was  within  him — all  this 
effort  and  toil  was,  without  doubt,  the  cause  of 
his  unhappy  death.  He  had  a  burning  thirst  for 
knowledge  and  a  fever  for  work  which  made  him 
sometimes  forget  the  necessity  for  eating  and 
drinking. 

He  had  a  great  admiration  for  Goethe,  and  was 
infatuated  by  Heinrich  von  Kleist,  whom  he  rather 
resembles  both  in  his  gifts  and  in  his  life  ;  he  was 
an  enthusiast  about  Grillparzer  and  Hebbel  at  a 
time  when  they  were  but  little  appreciated  ;  and 
he  was  one  of  the  first  Germans  to  discover  the 
worth  of  Morike,  whom,  later  on,  he  made  popular 
in  Germany.  Besides  this,  he  read  English  and 
French  writers.  He  liked  Rabelais,  and  was  very 
partial  to  Claude  Tillier,  the  French  novelist  of  the 
provinces,  whose  Oncle  Benjamin  has  given  pleasure 
to  so  many  German  provincial  families,  by  bringing 
before  them,  as  Wolf  said,  the  vision  of  their  own 
little  world,  and  helping  them  by  his  own  jovial 
good  humour  to  bear  their  troubles  with  a  smiling 
face.  And  so  Iktle  Wolf,  with  hardly  enough  to  eat, 
found  the  means  of  learning  both  French  and  English, 


172  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

in  order  better  to  appreciate  the  thoughts  of  foreign 
artists. 

In  music  he  learned  a  great  deal  from  his  friend 
Schalk,!  a  professor  at  the  Vienna  Conservatoire  ; 
but,  like  Berlioz,  he  got  most  of  his  education  from 
the  libraries,  and  spent  months  in  reading  the  scores 
of  the  great  masters.  Not  having  a  piano,  he  used 
to  carry  Beethoven's  sonatas  to  the  Prater  Park 
m  Vienna  and  study  them  on  a  bench  in  the  open 
air.  He  soaked  himself  in  the  classics — in  Bach 
and  Beethoven,  and  the  German  masters  of  the 
Lied — Schubert  and  Schumann.  He  was  one  of  the 
young  Germans  who  was  passionately  fond  of  Ber- 
lioz ;  and  it  is  due  to  Wolf  that  France  was  after- 
wards honoured  in  the  possession  of  this  great  artist, 
whom  French  critics,  whether  of  the  school  of 
Meyerbeer,  Wagner,  Franck,  or  Debussy,  have  never 
understood.  He  was  also  early  a  friend  of  old  Anton 
Bruckner,  whose  music  we  do  not  know  in  France, 
neither  his  eight  symphonies,  nor  his  Te  Deum,  noi 
his  masses,  nor  his  cantatas,  nor  anything  else  of  his 
fertile  work.  Bruckner  had  a  sweet  and  modest 
character,  and  an  endearing,  if  rather  childish, 
personality.  He  was  rather  crushed  all  his  life  by 
the  Brahms  party;  but,  like  Franck  in  France,  he 
gathered  round  him  new  and  original  talent  to  fight 
the  academic  art  of  his  time. 

But  of  all  these  influences,  the  strongest  was  that 
of  Wagner.     Wagner  came  to  Vienna  in  1875  to 

^  Joseph  Schalk  was  one  of  the  founders  of  the  Wagner- 
Verein  at  Vienna,  and  devoted  his  Hfe  to  propagating  the  cult 
of  Bruckner  (who  called  him  his  "  Herr  Generalissimus  ").  and 
to  fighting  for  Wolf. 


HUGO   WOLF  173 

conduct  Tannhduser  and  LoJiengrrn.  There  was  then 
among  the  younger  people  a  fever  of  enthusiasm 
similar  to  that  which  Werther  had  caused  a  century 
before.  Wolf  saw  Wagner.  He  tells  us  about  it  in 
his  letters  to  his  parents.  I  will  quote  his  own 
words,  and  though  they  make  one  smile,  one  loves 
the  impulsive  devotion  of  his  youth ;  and  they 
make  one  feel,  too,  that  a  man  who  inspires  such  an 
affection,  and  who  can  do  so  much  good  by  a  little 
sympathy,  is  to  blame  when  he  does  not  befriend 
others — above  all  if  he  has  suffered,  like  Wagner, 
from  loneliness  and  the  want  of  a  helping  hand. 
You  must  remember  that  this  letter  was  written  by 
a  boy  of  fifteen. 

"  I  have  been  to — guess  whom  ?  ...  to  the 
master,  Richard  Wagner  !  Now  I  will  tell  you 
all  about  it,  just  as  it  happened.  I  will  copy  the 
words  down  exactly  as  I  wrote  them  in  my  note- 
book. 

"  On  Thursday,  9  December,  at  half-past  ten, 
I  saw  Richard  Wagner  for  the  second  time  at  the 
Hotel  Imperial,  where  I  stayed  for  half  an  hour 
on  the  staircase,  awaiting  his  arrival  (I  knew  that 
on  that  day  he  would  conduct  the  last  rehearsal 
of  his  Lohengrin) .  At  last  the  master  came  down 
from  the  second  floor,  and  I  bowed  to  him  very 
respectfully  while  he  was  yet  some  distance  from 
me.  He  thanked  me  in  a  very  friendly  way.  As 
he  neared  the  door  I  sprang  forward  and  opened 
it  for  him,  upon  which  he  looked  fixedly  at  me 
for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  went  on  his  way  to 


174  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

the  rehearsal  at  the  Opera.  I  ran  as  fast  as  I 
could,  and  arrived  at  the  Opera  sooner  than 
Richard  Wagner  did  in  his  cab.  I  bowed  to  him 
again,  and  I  wanted  to  open  the  door  of  his  cab 
for  him  ;  but  as  I  could  not  get  it  open,  the  coach- 
man jumped  down  from  his  seat  and  did  it  for 
me.    Wagner  said  something  to  the  coachman — 

I  think  it  was  about  me.  I  wanted  to  follow  him 
into  the  theatre,  but  they  would  not  let  me  pass. 

"  I  often  used  to  wait  for  him  at  the  Hotel 
Imperial ;  and  on  this  occasion  I  made  the 
acquaintance  of  the  manager  of  the  hotel,  w^ho 
promised  that  he  would  interest  himself  on  my 
behalf.  Who  was  more  delighted  than  I  when  he 
told  me  that  on  the  following  Saturday  afternoon, 

II  December,  I  was  to  come  and  find  him,  so  that 
he  could  introduce  me  to  Mme.  Cosima's  maid 
and  Richard  Wagner's  valet  !  I  arrived  at  the 
appointed  hour.  The  visit  to  the  lady's  maid  was 
very  short.  I  was  advised  to  come  the  following 
day,  Sunday,  12  December,  at  two  o'clock.  I 
arrived  at  the  right  hour,  but  found  the  maid  and 
the  valet  and  the  manager  still  at  table.  .  .  . 
Then  I  went  with  the  maid  to  the  master's  rooms, 
where  I  waited  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
until  he  came.  At  last  Wagner  appeared  in  com- 
pany with  Cosima  and  Goldmark.  I  bowed  to 
Cosima  very  respectfully,  but  she  evidently  did 
not  think  it  worth  while  to  honour  me  with  a 
single  glance.  Wagner  was  going  into  his  room 
without  paying  any  attention  to  me,  when  the 
maid  said  to  him  in  a  beseeching  voice  ;    '  Ah, 


HUGO  WOLF  175 

Herr  Wagner,  it  is  a  young  musician  who  wishes 
to  speak  to  you ;  he  has  been  waiting  for  you  a 
long  time.' 

"  He  then  came  out  of  his  room,  looked  at  me, 
and  said  :  '  I  have  seen  you  before,  I  think.  You 
are  .  .  .' 

"  Probably  he  wanted  to  say,  '  You  are  a  fool/ 

"  He  went  in  front  of  me  and  opened  the  door 
of  the  reception-room,  which  was  furnished  in  a 
truly  royal  style.  In  the  middle  of  the  room  was 
a  couch  covered  in  velvet  and  silk.  Wagner  him- 
self was  wrapped  in  a  long  velvet  mantle  bordered 
with  fur. 

"  When  I  was  inside  the  room  he  asked  me  what 
I  wanted.'* 

Here  Hugo  Wolf,  to  excite  the  curiosity  of  his 
parents,  broke  off  his  story  and  put  "To  be  con- 
tinued in  my  next."    In  his  next  letter  he  continues  : 

"  I  said  to  him :  '  Highly  honoured  master,  for 
a  long  time  I  have  wanted  to  hear  an  opinion  on 
my  compositions,  and  it  would  be  .  .  .' 

"  Here  the  master  interrupted  me  and  said  : 
'  My  dear  child,  I  cannot  give  you  an  opinion  of 
your  compositions  ;  I  have  far  too  little  time  ;  I 
can't  even  get  my  own  letters  written.  I  under- 
stand nothing  at  all  about  music  [Ich  verstehe 
gar  nichts  von  der  Mttsik).' 

"  I  asked  the  master  whether  I  should  ever  be 
able  really  to  do  anything,  and  he  said  to  me  : 
'  When  I  was  your  age  and  composing  music,  no 


176  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

one  could  tell  me  then  whether  I  should  ever  do 
anything  great.  You  could  at  most  play  me  your 
compositions  on  the  piano  ;  but  I  have  no  time 
to  hear  them.  When  you  are  older,  and  when 
you  have  composed  bigger  works,  and  if  by 
chance  I  return  to  Vienna,  you  shall  show  me 
what  you  have  done.  But  that  is  no  use  now  ; 
I  cannot  give  you  an  opinion  of  them  yet.' 

"When  I  told  the  master  that  I  took  the 
classics  as  models,  he  said  :  '  Good,  good.  One 
can't  be  original  at  first.'  And  he  laughed,  and 
then  said,  '  I  wish  you,  dear  friend,  much  happi- 
ness in  your  career.  Go  on  working  steadily,  and 
if  I  come  back  to  Vienna,  show  me  your  com- 
positions.' 

"  Upon  that  I  left  the  master,  profoundly 
moved  and  impressed." 

Wolf  and  Wagner  did  not  see  each  other  again. 
But  Wolf  fought  unceasingly  on  Wagner's  behalf.  He 
went  several  times  to  Bayreuth,  though  he  had  no 
personal  intercourse  with  the  Wagner  family ;  but  he 
met  Liszt,  who,  with  his  usual  goodness,  wrote  him 
a  kind  letter  about  a  composition  that  he  had  sent 
him,  and  showed  him  what  alterations  to  make  in  it. 

Mottl  and  the  composer,  Adalbert  de  Goldschmidt, 
were  the  first  friends  to  aid  him  in  his  years  of 
misery,  by  finding  him  some  music  pupils.  He 
taught  music  to  little  children  of  seven  and  eight 
years  old  ;  but  he  was  a  poor  teacher,  and  found 
giving  lessons  was  a  martyrdom.  The  money  he 
earned  hardly  served  to  feed  him,  and  he  only  ate 


HUGO   WOLF  177 

once  a  day — Heaven  knows  how.  To  comfort  him- 
self he  read  Hebbel's  Life  ;  and  for  a  time  he  thought 
of  going  to  America.  In  1881  Goldschmidt  got  him 
the  post  of  second  Kapellmeister  at  the  Salzburg 
theatre.  It  was  his  business  to  rehearse  the  choruses 
for  the  operettas  of  Strauss  and  Millocker.  He  did 
his  work  conscientiously,  but  in  deadly  weariness  ; 
and  he  lacked  the  necessary  power  of  making  his 
authority  felt.  He  did  not  stay  long  in  this  post, 
and  came  back  to  Vienna. 

Since  1875  he  had  been  writing  music  :  Lieder, 
sonatas,  symphonies,  quartets,  etc.,  and  already  his 
Lieder  held  the  most  important  place.  He  also 
composed  in  1883  a  symphonic  poem  on  the  Pen- 
thesilea  of  his  friend  Kleist. 

In  1884  he  succeeded  in  getting  a  post  as  musical 
critic.  But  on  what  a  paper !  It  was  the  SalonUatt— 
a  mundane  journal  filled  with  articles  on  sport  and 
fashion  news.  One  would  have  said  that  this  little 
barbarian  was  put  there  for  a  wager.  His  articles 
from  1884  to  1887  are  full  of  life  and  humour.  He 
upholds  the  great  classic  masters  in  them  :  Gluck, 
Mozart,  Beethoven,  and — Wagner ;  he  defends 
Berlioz  ;  he  scourges  the  modem  Italians,  whose 
success  at  Vienna  was  simply  scandalous  ;  he  breaks 
lances  for  Bruckner,  and  begins  a  bold  campaign 
against  Brahms.  It  was  not  that  he  disliked  or  had 
any  prejudice  against  Brahms ;  he  took  a  delight 
in  some  of  his  works,  especially  his  chamber  music, 
but  he  found  fault  with  his  symphonies  and  was 
shocked  by  the  carelessness  of  the  declamation  in 
his  Lieder  and,  in  general,  could  not  bear  his  want 

N 


178  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

of  originality  and  power,  and  found  him  lacking  in 
joy  and  fulness  of  life.  Above  all,  he  struck  at  him 
as  being  the  head  of  a  party  that  was  spitefully 
opposed  to  Wagner  and  Bruckner  and  all  innovators. 
For  all  that  was  retrograde  in  music  in  Vienna,  and 
all  that  was  the  enemy  of  liberty  and  progress  in 
art  and  criticism,  was  giving  Brahms  its  detestable 
support  by  gathering  itself  about  him  and  spreading 
his  fame  abroad ;  and  though  Brahms  was  really 
far  above  his  party  as  an  artist  and  a  man,  he  had 
not  the  courage  to  break  away  from  it. 

Brahms  read  Wolf's  articles,  but  his  attacks  did 
not  seem  to  stir  his  apathy.  The  "  Brahmines," 
however,  never  forgave  Wolf.  One  of  his  bitterest 
enemies  was  Hans  von  Biilow,  who  found  anti- 
Brahmism  "  the  blasphemy  against  the  Holy  Ghost 
— w^hich  shall  not  be  forgiven."  ^  Some  years  later, 
when  Wolf  succeeded  in  getting  his  own  composi- 
tions played,  he  had  to  submit  to  criticisms  like 
that  of  Max  Kalbeck,  one  of  the  leaders  of  "  Brah- 
mism  "  at  Vienna  : 

"  Herr  Wolf  has  lately,  as  a  reporter,  raised  an 
irresistible  laugh  in  musical  circles.  So  someone 
suggested  he  had  better  devote  himself  to  com- 
position. The  last  products  of  his  muse  show 
that  this  well-meant  advice  was  bad.  He  ought 
to  go  back  to  reporting." 

An  orchestral  society  in  Vienna  gave  Wolf's 
Penthesilea  a  trial  reading  ;    and  it  was  rehearsed, 

1  ]Letter  of  H.  von  Biilow  to  Detlev  yon  Liliencroq, 


HUGO   WOLF  179 

in  disregard  of  all  good  taste,  amid  shouts  of  laughter. 
When  it  was  finished,  the  conductor  said:  "Gentle- 
men, I  ask  your  pardon  for  having  allowed  this 
piece  to  be  played  to  the  end  ;  but  I  wanted  to  know 
what  manner  of  man  it  is  that  dares  to  write  such 
things  about  the  master,  Brahms/* 

Wolf  got  a  little  respite  from  his  miseries  by  going 
to  stay  a  few  weeks  in  his  own  country  with  his 
brother-in-law,  Strasser,  an  inspector  of  taxes. ^  He 
took  with  him  his  books,  his  poets,  and  began  to 
set  them  to  music. 


He  was  now  twenty-seven  years  old,  and  had  as 
yet  published  nothing.  The  years  of  1887  and  1888 
were  the  most  critical  ones  of  his  life.  In  1887  he 
lost  his  father  whom  he  loved  so  much,  and  that 
loss,  like  so  many  of  his  other  misfortunes,  gave 
fresh  impulse  to  his  energies.  The  same  year,  a 
generous  friend  called  Eckstein  published  his  first 
collection  of  Lieder.  Wolf  up  to  that  time  had  been 
smothered,  but  this  publication  stirred  the  life  in 
him,  and  was  the  means  of  unloosing  his  genius. 
Settled  at  Perchtoldsdorf,  near  Vienna,  in  February, 
1888,  in  absolute  peace,  he  wrote  in  three  months 
fifty-three  Lieder  to  the  words  of  Eduard  Morike, 
the  pastor-poet  of  Swabia,  who  died  in  1875,  and 
who,  misunderstood  and  laughed  at  during  his 
lifetime,  is  now  covered  with  honour,  and  univer- 

^  Wolf's  letters  to  Strasser  are  of  great  value  in  giving  us  an 
insight  into  his  artist's  eager  and  unhappy  soul. 


l8o  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

sally  popular  in  Germany.  Wolf  composed  his  songs 
in  a  state  of  exalted  joy  and  almost  fright  at  the 
sudden  discovery  of  his  creative  power. 

In  a  letter  to  Dr.  Heinrich  Werner,  he  says  : 

"It  is  now  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  I 
am  so  happy — oh,  happier  than  the  happiest  of 
kings.  Another  new  Lied  I  If  you  could  hear 
what  is  going  on  in  my  heart  !  .  .  .  the  devil 
would  carry  you  away  with  pleasure  !  .  .  . 

"  Another  two  new  Lieder !  There  is  one  that 
sounds  so  horribly  strange  that  it  frightens  me. 
There  is  nothing  like  it  in  existence.  Heaven 
help  the  unfortunate  people  who  will  one  day 
hear  it !  .  .  . 

"  If  you  could  only  hear  the  last  Lied  I  have 
just  composed  3^ou  would  only  have  one  desire 
left — to  die.  .  .  .  Your  happ}^  happy  Wolf." 

He  had  hardly  finished  the  Morike-Lieder  when 
he  began  a  series  of  Lieder  on  poems  of  Goethe.  In 
three  months  (December,  1888,  to  February,  1889) 
he  had  written  all  the  Goethe-Liederhiich — fift3^-one 
Lieder,  some  of  which  are,  like  Prometheus,  big 
dramatic  scenes. 

The  same  year,  while  still  at  Perchtoldsdorf,  after 
having  published  a  volume  of  Eichendorff  Lieder, 
he  became  absorbed  in  a  new  cycle — the  Spanisches- 
Liederbuch,  on  Spanish  poems  translated  by  Heyse. 
He  wrote  these  forty-four  songs  in  the  same  ecstasy 
of  gladness  : 

"  What  I  write  now,  I  write  for  the  future.  .  .  . 


HUGO   WOLF  l8l 

Since  Schubert  and  Schumann  there  has  been 
nothing  Hke  it  !  " 

In  1890,  two  months  after  he  had  finished  the 
Spanisches-Liederbuch,  he  composed  another  cycle 
of  Lieder  on  poems  called  Alien  Weisen,  by  the  great 
Swiss  writer  Gottfried  Keller.  And  lastly,  in  the 
same  year,  he  began  his  Italienisches-Liederbuch,  on 
Italian  poems,  translated  by  Geibel  and  Heyse. 

And  then — then  there  was  silence. 

The  history  of  Wolf  is  one  of  the  most  extra- 
ordinary in  the  history  of  art,  and  gives  one  a  better 
glimpse  of  the  mysteries  of  genius  than  most  his- 
tories do. 

Let  us  make  a  little  resume.  Wolf  at  twenty- 
eight  years  old  had  written  practically  nothing. 
From  1888  to  1890  he  wrote,  one  after  another,  in 
a  kind  of  fever,  fifty-three  Morike  Lieder,  fifty-one 
Goethe  Lieder,  forty-four  Spanish  Lieder,  seventeen 
Eichendorff  Lieder,  a  dozen  Keller  Lieder,  and  the 
first  Italian  Lieder — that  is  about  two  hundred 
Lieder,  each  one  having  its  own  admirable  indi- 
viduality. 

And  then  the  music  stops.  The  spring  has  dried 
up.  Wolf  in  great  anguish  wrote  despairing  letters 
to  his  friends.  To  Oskar  Grohe,  on  2  May,  1891,  he 
wrote  : 

*'  I  have  given  up  all  idea  of  composing.  Heaven 
knows  how  things  will  finish.  Pray  for  my  poor 
soul." 


l82  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

And  to  Wette,  on  13  August,  1891,  he  says  : 

"  For  the  last  four  months  I  have  been  suffer- 
ing from  a  sort  of  mental  consumption,  which 
makes  me  very  seriously  think  of  quitting  this 
world  for  ever.  .  .  .  Only  those  who  truly  live 
should  live  at  all.  I  have  been  for  some  time  like 
one  who  is  dead.  I  only  wish  it  were  an  apparent 
death ;  but  I  am  really  dead  and  buried ;  though 
the  power  to  control  my  body  gives  me  a  seeming 
life.  It  is  my  inmost,  my  only  desire,  that  the 
flesh  may  quickly  follow  the  spirit  that  has  already 
passed.  For  the  last  fifteen  days  I  have  been 
living  at  Traunkirchen,  the  pearl  of  Traunsee.  .  .  . 
All  the  comforts  that  a  man  could  wish  for  are 
here  to  make  my  life  happy — peace,  solitude, 
beautiful  scenery,  invigorating  air,  and  every- 
thing that  could  suit  the  tastes  of  a  hermit  like 
myself.  1  And  yet — and  yet,  my  friend,  I  am  the 
most  miserable  creature  on  earth.  Everything 
around  me  breathes  peace  and  happiness,  every- 
thing throbs  with  life  and  fulfils  its  functions.  .  .  . 
I  alone,  oh  God  !  .  .  .  I  alone  live  like  a  beast 
that  is  deaf  and  senseless.  Even  reading  hardly 
serves  to  distract  me  now,  though  I  bur^^  myself 
in  books  in  my  despair.  As  for  composition, 
that  is  finished  ;  I  can  no  longer  bring  to  mind 
the  meaning  of  a  harmony  or  a  melody,  and  I 
almost  begin  to  doubt  if  the  compositions  that 
bear  my  name  are  really  mine.    Good  God  !  what 

^  Wolf  was  living  there  with  a  friend.  He  had  not  a  lodging 
of  his  own  until  1896,  and  that  was  due  to  the  generosity  of  his 
friends. 


HUGO  WOLF  183 

is  the  use  of  all  this  fame  ?  What  is  the  good 
of  these  great  aims  if  misery  is  all  that  Hes  at 
the  end  of  it  ?  .  .  . 

"  Heaven  gives  a  man  complete  genius  or  no 
genius  at  all.  Hell  has  given  me  everything  by 
halves. 

"  O  unhappy  man,  how  true,  how  true  it  is  ! 
In  the  flower  of  your  life  you  went  to  hell ;  into 
the  evil  jaws  of  destiny  you  threw  the  delusive 
present  and  yourself  with  it.    O  Kleist  !  " 

Suddenly,  at  Dobling,  on  29  November,  1891,  the 
stream  of  Wolf's  genius  flowed  again,  and  he  wrote 
fifteen  ItaHan  Lieder,  sometimes  several  in  one  day. 
In  December  it  stopped  again  ;  and  this  time  for 
five  years.  These  Itahan  melodies  show,  however, 
no  trace  of  any  effort,  nor  a  greater  tension  of  mind 
than  is  shown  in  his  preceding  works.  On  the  con- 
trary, they  have  the  air  of  being  the  simplest  and 
most  natural  work  that  Wolf  ever  did.  But  the 
matter  is  of  no  real  consequence,  for  when  Wolf's 
genius  was  not  stirring  within  him  he  was  useless. 
He  wished  to  write  thirty-three  Itahan  Lieder,  but 
he  had  to  stop  after  the  twenty-second,  and  in  1891 
he  pubhshed  one  volume  only  of  the  Italienisches- 
Liederhuch.  The  second  volume  was  completed  in 
a  month,  five  years  later,  in  1896. 

One  may  imagine  the  tortures  that  this  sohtary 
man  suffered.  His  only  happiness  was  in  creation, 
and  he  saw  his  life  cease,  without  any  apparent 
cause,  for  years  together,  and  his  genius  come  and 
go,  and  return  for  an  instant,  and  then  go  again. 


184  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

Each  time  he  must  have  anxiously  wondered  if  it 
had  gone  for  ever,  or  how  long  it  would  be  before 
it  came  back  again.  In  letters  to  Kaufmann  on 
6  August,  1891,  and  26  April,  1893,  he  says  : 

"  You  ask  me  for  news  of  my  opera.  ^  Good 
Heavens  !  I  should  be  content  if  I  could  write 
the  tiniest  little  Liedchen.  And  an  opera,  now  ? 
...  I  firmly  believe  that  it  is  all  over  with  me. 
...  I  could  as  well  speak  Chinese  as  compose 
anything.  It  is  horrible.  .  .  .  What  I  suffer  from 
this  inaction  I  cannot  tell  you.  I  should  like  to 
hang  myself.*' 

To  Hugo  Faisst  he  wrote  on  21  June,  1894  : 

"  You  ask  me  the  cause  of  my  great  depression 
of  spirit,  and  would  pour  balm  on  my  wounds. 
Ah  yes,  if  you  only  could  !  But  no  herb  grows 
that  could  cure  my  sickness  ;  only  a  god  could 
help  me.  If  you  can  give  me  back  my  inspirations, 
and  wake  up  the  famihar  spirit  that  is  asleep  in 
me,  and  let  him  possess  me  anew,  I  will  call  you 
a  god  and  raise  altars  to  your  name.  My  cry  is 
to  gods  and  not  to  men  ;  the  gods  alone  are  fit 
to  pronounce  my  fate.  But  however  it  may  end, 
even  if  the  worst  comes,  I  will  bear  it — yes,  even 
if  no  ray  of  sunshine  hghtens  my  life  again.  .  .  . 
And  with  that  we  will,  once  for  all,  turn  the  page 
and  have  done  with  this  dark  chapter  of  my  Hfe." 

^  The   writing   of   an   opera   was   Wolf's   great   dream   and 
intention  for  many  years. 


HUGO   WOLF  185 

This  letter— and  it  is  not  the  only  one— recalls 
the  melancholy  stoicism  of  Beethoven's  letters,  and 
shows  us  sorrows  that  even  the  unhappy  Beethoven 
did  not  know.  And  yet  how  can  we  tell  ?  Perhaps 
Beethoven,  too,  suffered  similar  anguish  in  the  sad 
days  that  followed  1815,  before  the  last  sonatas,  the 
Missa  Solemnis,  and  the  Ninth  Symphony  had 
awaked  to  life  in  him. 


In  March,  1895,  Wolf  lived  once  more,  and  in  three 
months  had  written  the  piano  score  of  Corregidor. 
For  many  years  he  had  been  attracted  towards  the 
stage,  and  especially  towards  Hght  opera.  Enthu- 
siast though  he  was  for  Wagner's  work,  he  had 
declared  openly  that  it  was  time  for  musicians  to 
free  themselves  from  the  Wagnerian  Musik-Drama. 
He  knew  his  own  gifts,  and  did  not  aspire  to  take 
Wagner's  place.  When  one  of  his  friends  offered 
him  a  subject  for  an  opera,  taken  from  a  legend 
about  Buddha,  he  declined  it,  saying  that  the  world 
did  not  yet  understand  the  meaning  of  Buddha's 
doctrines,  and  that  he  had  no  wish  to  give  humanity 
a  fresh  headache.  In  a  letter  to  Grohe,  on  28  June, 
1890,  he  says  : 

"  Wagner  has,  by  and  through  his  art,  accom- 
phshed  such  a  mighty  work  of  liberation  that  we 
may  rejoice  to  think  that  it  is  quite  useless  for 
us  to  storm  the  skies,  since  he  has  conquered  them 
for  us.  It  is  much  wiser  to  seek  out  a  pleasant 
nook  in  this  lovely  heaven.    I  want  to  find  a  httle 


l86  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

place  there  for  myself,  not  in  a  desert  with  water 
and  locusts  and  wild  honey,  but  in  a  merry  com- 
pany of  primitive  beings,  among  the  tinkling  of 
guitars,  the  sighs  of  love,  the  moonlight,  and 
such-like — in  short,  in  a  quite  ordinary  opera- 
comique,  without  any  rescuing  spectre  of  Schopen- 
hauerian  philosophy  in  the  background." 

After  having  sought  the  libretto  of  an  opera  from 
the  whole  world,  from  poets  ancient  and  modern, 
from  Shakespeare,  from  his  friend  Liliencron,^  and 
after  having  tried  to  write  one  himself,  he  finally  took 
that  of  Madame  Rosa  Mayreder,  an  adaptation  of 
a  Spanish  novelette  of  Don  Pedro  de  Alarcon.  This 
was  Corregidor,  which,  after  having  been  refused  by 
other  theatres,  was  played  in  June,  1896,  at  Mann- 
heim. The  work  was  not  a  success  in  spite  of  its 
musical  qualities,  and  the  poorness  of  the  libretto 
helped  on  its  failure. 

But  the  main  thing  was  that  Wolf's  creative 
genius  had  returned.  In  April,  1896,  he  wrote  straight 
away  the  twenty-two  songs  of  the  second  volume 
of  the  Italienisches-Liederbuch.  At  Christmas  his 
friend  Miiller  sent  him  some  of  Michelangelo's  poems, 
translated  into  German  by  Walter  Robert-Tomow  ; 
and  Wolf,  deeply  moved  by  their  beauty,  decided  at 
once  to  devote  a  whole  volume  of  Lieder  to  them. 
In  1897  he  composed  the  first  three  melodies.  At 
the  same  time  he  was  also  working  at  a  new  opera, 

1  Detlev  von  Liliencron  offered  liim  an  American  subject. 
"  But  in  spite  of  my  admiration  for  Buffalo  Bill  and  his  un- 
washed crew,"  said  Wolf  sarcastically,  "  I  prefer  my  native  soil 
and  people  who  appreciate  the  advantages  of  soap." 


HUGO  WOLF  187 

Manuel  Venegas,  a  poem  by  Moritz  Hoernes, 
written  after  the  style  of  Alarcon.  He  seemed  full 
of  strength  and  happiness  and  confidence  in  his 
renewed  health.  Miiller  was  speaking  to  him  of  the 
premature  death  of  Schubert,  and  Wolf  replied, 
"  A  man  is  not  taken  away  before  he  has  said  all  he 
has  to  say." 

He  worked  furiously,  "  like  a  steam-engine,"  as 
he  said,  and  was  so  absorbed  in  the  composition  of 
Manuel  Venegas  (September,  1897)  that  he  went 
without  rest,  and  had  hardly  time  to  take  necessary 
food.  In  a  fortnight  he  had  written  fifty  pages  of 
the  pianoforte  score,  as  well  as  the  motifs  for  the 
whole  work,  and  the  music  of  half  the  first  act. 

Then  madness  came.  On  20  September  he  was 
seized  while  he  was  working  at  the  great  recitative 
of  Manuel  Venegas  in  the  first  act. 

He  was  taken  to  Dr.  Svetlin's  private  hospital  in 
Vienna,  and  remained  there  until  January,  1898. 
Happily  he  had  devoted  friends  who  took  care  of  him 
and  made  up  for  the  indifference  of  the  public  ;  for 
what  he  had  earned  himself  would  not  have  enabled 
him  even  to  die  in  peace.  When  Schott,  the  pub- 
lisher, sent  him  in  October,  1895,  his  royalties  for 
the  editions  of  his  Lieder  of  Morike,  Goethe,  Eichen- 
dorff,  Keller,  Spanish  poetry,  and  the  first  volume 
of  Itahan  poetry,  their  total  for  five  years  came  to 
eighty-six  marks  and  thirty-five  pfennigs  !  And 
Schott  calmly  added  that  he  had  not  expected  so 
good  a  result.  So  it  was  Wolf's  friends,  and  espe- 
cially Hugo  Faisst,  who  not  only  saved  him  from 
misery    by    their    unobtrusive    and    often    secret 


l88  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

generosity,  but  spared  him  the  horror  of  destitution 
in  his  last  misfortunes. 

He  recovered  his  reason,  and  was  sent  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1898,  for  a  voyage  to  Trieste  and  Venetia 
to  complete  his  cure  and  prevent  him  from  think- 
ing of  work.  The  precaution  was  unnecessary ;  for 
he  says  in  a  letter  to  Hugo  Faisst,  written  in  the 
same  month  : 

**  There  is  no  need  for  you  to  trouble  yourself 
or  fear  that  I  shall  overdo  things.  A  real  distaste 
for  work  has  taken  poseession  of  me,  and  I  believe 
I  shall  never  write  another  note.  My  unfinished 
opera  has  no  more  interest  for  me,  and  music 
altogether  is  hateful.  You  see  what  my  kind 
friends  have  done  for  me  !  I  cannot  think  how 
I  shall  be  able  to  exist  in  this  state.  .  .  .  Ah, 
happy  Swabians  !  one  may  well  envy  you.  Greet 
your  beautiful  country  for  me,  and  be  warmly 
greeted  yourself  by  your  unhappy  and  worn-out 
friend,  Hugo  Wolf." 

When  he  returned  to  Vienna,  however,  he  seemed 
to  be  a  little  better,  and  had  apparently  regained 
his  health  and  cheerfulness.  But  to  his  own  astonish- 
ment he  had  become,  as  he  says  in  a  letter  to  Faisst, 
a  quiet,  sedate,  and  silent  man,  who  wished  more 
and  more  to  be  alone.  He  did  not  compose  any- 
thing fresh,  but  revised  his  Michelangelo  Lieder,  and 
had  them  published.  He  made  plans  for  the  winter, 
and  rejoiced  in  the  thought  of  passing  it  in  the 
country  near  Gmunden.  "  in  perfect  quiet,  undis- 


HUGO   WOLF  189 

turbed,  and  living  only  for  art/'    In  his  last  letter 
to  Faisst,  17  September,  1898,  he  says  : 

"  I  am  quite  well  again  now,  and  have  no  more 
need  of  any  cures.  You  would  need  them  more 
than  ir 

Then  came  a  fresh  seizure  of  madness,  and  this 
time  all  was  finished. 

In  the  autumn  of  1898  Wolf  was  taken  to  an 
asylum  at  Vienna.  At  first  he  was  able  to  receive 
a  few  visits  and  to  enjoy  a  little  music  by  playing 
duets  with  the  director  of  the  establishment,  who 
was  himself  a  musician  and  a  great  admirer  of  Wolf's 
works.  He  was  even  able  in  the  spring  to  take  a 
few  walks  out  of  doors  with  his  friends  and  an 
attendant.  But  he  was  beginning  not  to  recognise 
things  or  people  or  even  himself.  "  Yes,"  he  would 
say,  sighing,  "  if  only  I  were  Hugo  Wolf  !  "  From 
the  middle  of  1899  his  malady  grew  rapidly  worse, 
and  general  paralysis  followed.  At  the  beginning 
of  1900  his  speech  was  affected,  and,  finally,  in 
August,  1 90 1,  all  his  body.  At  the  beginning  of 
1902  all  hope  was  given  up  by  the  doctors  ;  but  his 
heart  was  still  sound,  and  the  unhappy  man  dragged 
out  his  life  for  another  year.  He  died  on  16  February, 
1903,  of  peripneumonia. 

He  was  given  a  magnificent  funeral,  which  was 
attended  by  all  the  people  who  had  done  nothing 
for  him  while  he  was  alive.  The  Austrian  State, 
the  town  of  Vienna,  his  native  town  Windischgratz, 
the    Conservatoire    that    had    expelled    him,    the 


igo  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

Gesellsckafl  der  Mtisikfreimde  who  had  been  so  long 
unfriendly  to  his  works,  the  Opera  that  had  been 
closed  to  him,  the  singers  that  had  scorned  him,  the 
critics  that  had  scoffed  at  him — they  were  all  there. 
They  sang  one  of  his  saddest  melodies,  Resignation, 
a  setting  of  a  po-em  of  Eichendorff's,  and  a  chorale 
by  his  old  friend  Bruckner,  who  had  died  several 
years  before  him.  His  faithful  friends,  Faisst  at  the 
head  of  them,  took  care  to  have  a  monument  erected 
to  his  memory  near  those  of  Beethoven  and 
Schubert. 


Such  was  his  Hfe,  cut  short  at  thirty-seven  years 
of  age — for  one  cannot  count  the  five  years  of 
complete  madness.  There  are  not  many  examples 
in  the  art  world  of  so  terrible  a  fate.  Nietzsche's 
misiortune  is  nowhere  beside  this,  for  Nietzsche's 
madness  was,  to  a  certain  extent,  productive,  and 
caused  his  genius  to  flash  out  in  a  way  that  it  never 
would  have  done  if  his  mind  had  been  balanced 
and  his  health  perfect.  Wolf's  madness  meant 
prostration.  But  one  may  see  how,  even  in  the 
space  of  thirty-seven  years,  his  life  was  strangely 
parcelled  out.  For  he  did  not  really  begin  his 
creative  work  until  he  was  twenty-seven  years  old ; 
and  as  from  1890  to  1895  he  was  condemned  to 
five  years'  silence,  the  sum  total  of  his  real  life, 
his  productive  Hfe,  is  only  four  or  five  years. 
But  in  those  few  years  he  got  more  out  of  Hfe 
than  the  greater  part  of  artists  do  in  a  long  career, 
and  in  his  work  he  left  the  imprint  of  a  person- 


HUGO  WOLF  I9T 

ality  that  no  one  could  forget  after  once  having 
known  it. 


Wolf's  work  consists  chiefly,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  of  Lieder,  and  these  Lieder  are  characterised 
by  the  application  to  lyrical  music  of  principles 
established  by  Wagner  in  the  domain  of  drama. 
That  does  not  mean  he  imitated  Wagner.  One 
finds  here  and  there  in  Wolf's  music  Wagnerian 
forms,  just  as  elsewhere  there  are  evident  reminis- 
cences of  Berlioz.  It  is  the  inevitable  mark  of  his 
time,  and  each  great  artist  in  his  turn  contributes 
his  share  to  the  enrichment  of  the  language  that 
belongs  to  us  all.  But  the  real  Wagnerism  of  Wolf 
is  not  made  up  of  these  unconscious  resemblances  ; 
it  lies  in  his  determination  to  make  poetry  the 
inspiration  of  music.  "  To  show,  above  all,"  he 
wrote  to  Humperdinck  in  1890,  "  that  poetry  is  the 
true  source  of  my  music." 

When  a  man  is  both  a  poet  and  a  musician,  like 
Wagner,  it  is  natural  that  his  poetry  and  music 
should  harmonise  perfectly.  But  when  it  is  a 
matter  of  translating  the  soul  of  other  poets  into 
music,  special  gifts  of  mental  subtlety  and  an 
abounding  sympathy  are  needed.  These  gifts  were 
possessed  by  Wolf  in  a  very  high  degree.  No 
musician  has  more  keenly  savoured  and  appreciated 
the  poets.  "  He  was,"  said  one  of  his  critics,  G. 
Kiihl,  "  Germany's  greatest  psychologist  in  music 
since  Mozart."  There  was  nothing  laboured  about 
his  psychology.     Wolf  was  incapable  of  setting  to 


192  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

music  poetry  that  he  did  not  really  love.  He  used 
to  have  the  poetry  he  wished  to  translate  read  over 
to  him  several  times,  or  in  the  evening  he  would 
read  it  aloud  to  himself.  If  he  felt  very  stirred  by  it 
he  lived  apart  with  it,  and  thought  about  it,  and 
soaked  himself  in  its  atmosphere  ;  then  he  went  to 
sleep,  and  the  next  morning  he  was  able  to  write 
the  Lied  straight  away.  But  some  poems  seemed 
to  sleep  in  him  for  years,  and  then  would  suddenly 
awake  in  him  in  a  musical  form.  On  these  occasions 
he  would  cry  out  with  happiness.  "  Do  you  know  ? " 
he  wTote  to  Miiller,  "  I  simply  shouted  with  joy." 
Miiller  said  he  was  like  an  old  hen  after  it  had  laid 
an  egg. 

Wolf  never  chose  commonplace  poems  for  his 
music — which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  Schubert 
or  Schumann.  He  did  not  use  anything  written  by 
contemporary  poets,  although  he  was  in  sympathy 
with  some  of  them,  such  as  Liliencron,  who  hoped 
very  much  to  be  translated  into  music  by  him. 
But  he  could  not  do  it ;  he  could  not  use  anything 
in  the  work  of  a  great  poet  unless  he  became  so 
intimate  with  it  that  it  seemed  to  be  a  part  of  him. 

What  strikes  one  also  in  the  Lieder  is  the  import- 
ance of  the  pianoforte  accompaniment  and  its 
independence  of  the  voice.  Sometimes  the  voice 
and  the  pianoforte  express  the  contrast  that  so 
often  exists  between  the  words  and  the  thought  of 
the  poem  ;  at  other  times  they  express  two  per- 
sonalities, as  in  his  setting  of  Goethe's  Prometheus, 
where  the  accompaniment  represents  Zeus  sending 
out    his    thunderbolts,    and    the    voice    interprets 


HUGO  WOLF  193 

Titan  ;  or  again,  he  may  depict,  as  in  the  setting 
of  Eichendorff' s  Serenade,  a  student  in  love  in  the 
accompaniment,  while  the  song  is  the  voice  of  an 
old  man  who  is  listening  to  it  and  thinking  of  his 
youth.  But  in  whatever  he  is  describing,  the  piano- 
forte and  the  voice  have  always  their  own  indi- 
viduality. You  cannot  take  anything  away  from 
his  Lieder  without  spoiling  the  whole  ;  and  it  is 
especially  so  with  his  instrumental  passages,  which 
give  us  the  beginning  and  end  of  his  emotion,  and 
which  circle  round  it  and  sum  it  up.  The  musical 
form,  following  closely  the  poetic  form,  is  extremely 
varied.  It  may  sometimes  express  a  fugitive  thought, 
a  brief  record  of  a  poetic  impression  or  some  little 
action,  or  it  may  be  a  great  epic  or  dramatic  picture. 
Miiller  remarks  that  Wolf  put  more  into  a  poem 
than  the  poet  himself — as  in  the  Italienisches- 
Liederbuch.  It  is  the  worst  reproach  they  can  make 
about  him,  and  it  is  not  an  ordinary  one.  Wolf 
excelled  especially  in  setting  poems  which  accorded 
with  his  own  tragic  fate,  as  if  he  had  some  presenti- 
ment of  it.  No  one  has  better  expressed  the  anguish 
of  a  troubled  and  despairing  soul,  such  as  we  find 
in  the  old  harp-player  in  Wilhelni  Meister,  or  the 
splendid  nihility  of  certain  poems  of  Michelangelo. 

Of  all  his  collections  of  Lieder,  the  53  Gedichte 
von  Eduard  Morike,  komponiert  fiir  eine  Singstimme 
und  Klavier  (1888),  the  first  published,  is  the  most 
popular.  It  gained  many  friends  for  Wolf,  not  so 
much  among  artists  (who  are  always  in  the  minority) 
as  among  those  critics  who  are  the  best  and  most 
disinterested  of  all — the  homely,  honest  people  who 


194  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

do  not  make  a  profession  of  art,  but  enjoy  it  as  their 
spiritual  daily  bread.  There  are  a  number  of  these 
people  in  Germany,  whose  hard  lives  are  beautified 
by  their  love  of  music.  Wolf  found  these  friends  in 
all  parts,  but  he  found  most  of  them  in  Swabia.  At 
Stuttgart,  at  Mannheim,  at  Darmstadt,  and  in  the 
country  round  about  these  towns  he  became  very 
popular — the  only  popular  musician  since  Schubert 
and  Schumann.  All  classes  of  society  unite  in 
loving  him.  "  His  Lieder,"  says  Herr  Decsey,  "  are 
on  the  pianos  of  even  the  poorest  houses,  by  the 
side  oi  Schubert's  Lieder."  Stuttgart  became  for 
Wolf,  as  he  said  himself,  a  second  home.  He  owes 
this  popularity,  which  is  without  parallel  in  Swabia, 
to  the  people's  passionate  love  of  Lieder  and,  above 
all,  of  the  poetry  of  Morike,  the  Swabian  pastor,  who 
lives  again  in  Wolf's  songs.  Wolf  has  set  to  music 
a  quarter  of  Morike's  poems,  he  has  brought  Morike 
into  his  own,  and  given  him  one  of  the  first  places 
among  German  poets.  Such  was  really  his  intention, 
and  he  said  so  when  he  had  a  portrait  of  Morike  put 
on  the  title-page  of  the  songs.  WTiether  the  reading 
of  his  poetry  acted  as  a  balm  to  Wolf's  unquiet  spirit, 
or  whether  he  became  conscious  of  his  genius  for  the 
first  time  when  he  expressed  this  poetry  in  music, 
I  do  not  know  ;  but  he  felt  deep  gratitude  towards 
it,  and  wished  to  show  it  by  beginning  the  first 
volume  with  that  fine  and  rather  Beethoven-like 
song,  Der  Genesende  an  die  Hoffnung  ("The  Con- 
valescent's Ode  to  Hope  "). 

The   fifty-one    Lieder   of   the   Goethe -Liederbuch 
(1888-89)  were  composed  in  groups  of  Lieder  :   the 


HUGO   WOLF  195 

Wilhelm  Meister  Lieder,  the  Divan  [Suleika)  Lieder, 
etc.  Wolf  even  tried  to  identify  himself  with  the 
poet's  line  of  thought ;  and  in  this  we  often  find  him 
in  rivalry  with  Schubert.  He  avoided  using  the 
poems  in  which  he  thought  Schubert  had  exactly 
conveyed  the  poet's  meaning,  as  in  Geheimes  and 
An  Schwager  Kronos  ;  but  he  told  Miiller  that  there 
were  times  when  Schubert  did  not  understand 
Goethe  at  all,  because  he  concerned  himself  with 
translating  their  general  lyrical  thought  rather  than 
with  showing  the  real  nature  of  Goethe's  characters. 
The  peculiar  interest  of  Wolf's  Lieder  is  that  he 
gives  each  poetic  figure  its  individual  character. 
The  Harpist  and  Mignon  are  traced  with  mar- 
vellous insight  and  restraint ;  and  in  some  passages 
Wolf  shows  that  he  has  re-discovered  Goethe's  art 
of  presenting  a  whole  world  of  sadness  in  a  single 
word.  The  serenity  of  a  great  soul  soars  over  the 
chaos  of  passions. 

The  Spanisches-Liederbuch  nach  Heyse  iind  Geihel 
(1889-90)  had  already  inspired  Schumann,  Brahms, 
Cornelius,  and  others.  But  none  had  tried  to  give 
it  its  rough  and  sensual  character.  Miiller  shows 
how  Schumann,  especially,  robbed  the  poems  of  their 
true  nature.  Not  only  did  he  invest  them  with  his 
own  sentimentaHsm,  but  he  calmly  arranged  poems 
of  the  most  marked  individual  character  to  be  sung 
by  four  voices,  which  makes  them  quite  absurd  ; 
and,  worse  than  this,  he  changed  the  words  and 
their  sense  when  they  stood  in  his  way.  Wolf,  on 
the  contrary,  steeped  himself  in  this  melancholy 
and  voluptuous  world,  and  would  not  let  anything 


196  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

draw  him  from  it ;  and  out  of  it  he  produced,  as  he 
himself  said  proudly,  some  masterpieces.  The  ten 
religious  songs  that  come  at  the  beginning  of  the 
collection  suggest  the  delusions  of  mysticism,  and 
weep  tears  of  blood  ;  they  are  distressing  to  the  ear 
and  mind  alike,  for  they  are  the  passionate  expres- 
sion of  a  faith  that  puts  itself  on  the  rack.  By  the 
side  of  them  one  finds  smiling  visions  of  the  Holy 
Family,  which  recall  Murillo.  The  thirty-four  folk- 
songs are  brilliant,  restless,  whimsical,  and  wonder- 
fully varied  in  form.  Each  represents  a  different 
subject,  a  personality  drawn  with  incisive  strokes, 
and  the  whole  collection  overflows  with  life.  It  is 
said  that  the  Spanisches-Liederbtich  is  to  Wolf's 
work  what  Tristan  is  to  Wagner's  work. 

The  Italienisches-Liederhnch  (1890-96)  is  quite 
different.  The  character  of  the  songs  is  very  re- 
strained, and  Wolf's  genius  here  approached  a 
classic  clearness  of  form.  He  was  always  seeking  to 
simplify  his  musical  language,  and  said  that  if  he 
wrote  anything  more,  he  wished  it  to  be  like  Mozart's 
writings.  These  Lieder  contain  nothing  that  is  not 
absolutely  essential  to  their  subject ;  so  the  melodies 
are  very  short,  and  are  dramatic  rather  than  lyrical. 
Wolf  gave  them  an  important  place  in  his  work  : 
"  I  consider  them,"  he  wrote  to  Kaufmann,  "  the 
most  original  and  perfect  of  my  compositions." 

As  for  the  Michelangelo  Gedichten  (1897),  they  were 
interrupted  by  the  outbreak  of  his  malady,  and  he 
had  only  time  to  write  four,  of  which  he  suppressed 
one.  Their  associations  are  pathetic  when  one 
remembers  the  tragic  time  at  which  they  were  com- 


HUGO   WOLF 


197 


posed ;  and,  by  a  sort  of  prophetic  instinct,  they 
exhale  heaviness  of  spirit  and  mournful  pride.  The 
second  melody  is  perhaps  more  beautiful  than  any- 
thing else  Wolf  wrote  ;  it  is  truly  his  death-song  : 

Alles  endet,  was  entstehet. 
Alles,  alles  rings  vergehet.'^ 

And  it  is  a  dead  man  that  sings  : 

Menschen  waren  wir  ja  auch, 
Froh  tmd  traurig,  so  wie  Ihr. 
Und  nun  sind  wir  leblos  hier, 
Sind  nur  Erde,  wie  Ihr  seJiet.^ 

At  the  moment  he  was  writing  this  song,  in  the 
short  respite  he  had  from  his  illness,  he  himself  was 
nearly  a  dead  man. 


As  soon  as  Wolf  was  really  dead  his  genius  was 
recognised  all  over  Germany.     His  sufferings  pro- 

1  All  that  is  begun  must  end, 
All  around  will  sometime  perish. 

'  Once  we  were  also  men 
Happy  or  sad  like  you  ; 
Now  life  is  taken  from  us, 
We  are  only  of  earth,  as  you  see. 

Chiunque  nasce  a  morte  arriva 
Nel  fuggir  del  tempo,  e'l  sole 
Niuna  cosa  lascia  viva  .   .   . 
Come  voi,  uomini  fummo, 
Lieti  e  tristi,  come  siete  ; 
E  or  siam,  come  vedete, 
Terra  al  sol,  di  vita  priva. 

(Poems  of  Michelangelo,  CXXXVI.) 


198  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

voiced  an  almost  excessive  reaction  in  his  favour. 
Hugo-Wolf-Vereine  were  founded  everywhere  ;  and 
to-day  we  have  publications,  collections  of  letters, 
souvenirs,  and  biographies  in  abundance.  It  is  a 
case  of  who  can  cry  loudest  that  he  always  under- 
stood the  genius  of  the  unhappy  artist,  and  work 
himself  into  the  greatest  fury  against  his  traducers. 
A  little  later,  and  monuments  and  statues  will  spring 
up  all  over. 

I  doubt  if  Wolf  with  his  rough,  sincere  nature 
would  have  found  much  consolation  in  this  tardy 
homage  if  he  could  have  foreseen  it.  He  would  have 
said  to  his  posthumous  admirers  :  "  You  are  hypo- 
crites. It  is  not  for  me  that  you  raise  those  statues  ; 
it  is  for  yourselves.  It  is  that  you  may  make 
speeches,  form  committees,  and  delude  yourselves 
and  others  that  you  were  my  friends.  Where  were 
you  when  I  had  need  of  you  ?  You  let  me  die.  Do 
not  play  a  comedy  round  my  grave.  Look  rather 
around  you,  and  see  if  there  are  not  other  Wolfs 
who  are  struggling  against  your  hostility  or  your 
indifference.    As  for  me,  I  have  come  safe  to  port." 


DON    LORENZO    PEROSI 

The  winter  that  held  ItaHan  thought  in  its  cold 
clasp  is  over,  and  great  trees  that  seemed  to  be 
asleep  are  putting  out  new  life  in  the  sun.  Yester- 
day it  was  poetry  that  awaked,  and  to-day  it  is 
music — the  sweet  music  of  Italy,  calm  in  its  passion 
and  sadness,  and  artless  in  its  knowledge.  Are  we 
really  witnessing  the  return  of  its  spring  ?  Is  it  the 
incoming  of  some  great  tide  of  melody,  which  will 
wash  away  the  gloom  and  doubt  of  our  life  to-day  ? 
As  I  was  reading  the  oratorios  of  this  young  priest 
of  Piedmont,  I  thought  I  heard,  far  away,  the  song 
of  the  children  of  old  Greece  :  "  The  swallow  has 
come,  has  come,  bringing  the  gay  seasons  and  glad 
years.  "Eap  fjS)]."  I  welcome  the  coming  of  Don 
Lorenzo  Perosi  with  great  hope. 


The  abbe  Perosi,  the  precentor  of  St.  Mark's 
chapel  at  Venice  and  the  director  of  the  Sistine 
chapel,  is  twenty-six  years  old.^  He  is  short  in 
stature  and  of  youthful  appearance,  with  a  head 
a  little  too  big  for  his  body,  and  open  and  regular 
features  lighted  up  by  inteUigent  black  eyes,  his  only 
peculiarity   being    a    projecting   underlip.      He    is 

^  This  article  was  written  in  1S99,  on  the  occasion  of  Lorenzo 
Perosi's  coming  to  Paris  to  direct  his  oratorio  La  Resurrection. 

199 


200  MUSICIANS    OF   TO-DAY 

simple-hearted  and  modest,  and  has  a  friendly 
warmth  of  affection.  When  he  is  conducting  the 
orchestra  his  striking  silhouette,  his  slow  and  awk- 
ward gestures  in  expressive  passages,  and  his  naive 
movements  of  passion  at  dramatic  moments,  bring 
to  mind  one  of  Fra  Angelico's  monks. 

For  the  last  eighteen  months  Don  Perosi  has  been 
working  at  a  cycle  of  twelve  oratorios  descriptive 
of  the  life  of  Christ.  In  this  short  time  he  has 
finished  four  :  The  Passion,  The  Transfiguration, 
The  Resurrection  of  Lazarus,  The  Resurrection  of 
Christ.    Now  he  is  at  work  on  the  fifth — The  Nativity. 

These  compositions  alone  place  him  in  the  front 
rank  of  contemporary  musicians.  They  abound  in 
faults  ;  but  their  qualities  are  so  rare,  and  his  soul 
shines  so  clearly  through  them,  and  such  fine  sin- 
cerity breathes  in  them,  that  I  have  not  the  courage 
to  dwell  on  their  weaknesses.  So  I  shall  content 
myself  with  remarking,  in  passing,  that  the  orchestra- 
tion is  inadequate  and  awkward,  and  that  the  young 
musician  should  strive  to  make  it  fuller  and  more 
delicate;  and  though  he  shows  great  ease  in  com- 
position, he  is  often  too  impetuous,  and  should 
resist  this  tendency  ;  and  that,  lastly,  there  are 
sometimes  traces  of  bad  taste  in  the  music  and 
reminiscences  of  the  classics — all  of  which  are  the 
sins  of  youth,  which  age  will  certainly  cure. 

Each  of  the  oratorios  is  really  a  descriptive  mass, 
which  from  beginning  to  end  traces  out  one  dominat- 
ing thought.  Don  Perosi  said  to  me  :  "  The  mis- 
take of  artists  to-day  is  that  they  attach  themselves 
too  much  to  details  and  neglect  the  whole.     They 


DON    LORENZO   PEROSI  201 

begin  by  carving  ornaments,  and  forget  that  the 
most  important  thing  is  the  unity  of  their  work, 
its  plan  and  general  outline.  The  outline  must  first 
of  all  be  beautiful." 

In  his  own  musical  architecture  one  finds  well- 
marked  airs,  numerous  recitatives,  Gregorian  or 
Palestrinian  choruses,  chorales  with  developments 
and  variations  in  the  old  style,  and  intervening 
symphonies  of  some  importance. 

The  whole  work  is  to  be  preceded  by  a  grand 
prelude,  very  carefully  worked  out,  to  which  Don 
Perosi  attaches  particular  worth.  He  wishes,  he 
says,  that  his  building  shall  have  a  beautiful  door 
elaborately  carved  after  the  fashion  of  the  artists  of 
the  Renaissance  and  Gothic  times.  And  so  he  means 
to  compose  the  prelude  after  the  rest  of  the  oratorio 
is  finished,  when  he  is  able  to  think  about  it  in  un- 
disturbed peace.  He  wishes  to  concentrate  a  moral 
atmosphere  in  it,  the  very  essence  of  the  soul  and 
passions  of  his  sacred  drama.  He  also  confided  to 
me  that  of  all  he  has  yet  composed  there  is  nothing 
he  likes  better  than  the  introductions  to  The  Trans- 
figuration and  The  Resurrection  of  Christ. 

The  dramatic  tendency  of  these  oratorios  is  very 
marked,  and  it  is  chiefly  on  that  account  that  they 
have  conquered  Italy.  In  spite  of  some  passages 
which  have  strayed  a  little  in  the  direction  of 
opera,  or  even  melodrama,  the  music  shows  great 
depth  of  feeling.  The  figures  of  the  women  especially 
are  drawn  with  delicacy  ;  and  in  the  second  part  of 
Lazarus,  Mary's  air,  "  Lord,  if  Thou  hadst  been 
here,  my  brother  had  not  died,"  recalls  something 


202  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

of  Gluck's  Orfco  in  its  heart-broken  sadness.  And 
again,  in  the  same  oratorio,  when  Jesus  gives  the 
order  to  raise  the  stone  from  the  tomb,  Martha's 
speech,  "  Domine,  jam  foetet,"  is  very  expressive  of 
her  sadness,  fear,  and  shame,  and  human  horror. 
I  should  hke  to  quote  one  more  passage,  the  most 
moving  of  all,  which  is  found  in  the  Resurrection  of 
Christ,  when  Mary  Magdalene  is  beside  the  tomb 
of  Christ ;  here,  in  her  speech  with  the  angels,  in 
her  touching  lamentation,  and  in  the  words  of  the 
Evangelist,  "  And  when  she  had  thus  said,  she 
turned  herself  back,  and  saw  Jesus  standing,  and 
knew  not  that  it  was  Jesus,"  we  hear  a  melody  filled 
with  tenderness,  and  seem  to  see  Christ's  eyes  shining 
as  they  rest  on  Mary  before  she  has  recognised  Him. 
It  is  not,  however,  Perosi's  dramatic  genius  that 
strikes  me  in  his  work ;  it  is  rather  his  peculiar 
mournfulness,  which  is  indescribable,  his  gift  of  pure 
poetry,  and  the  richness  of  his  flowing  melody. 
However  deep  the  religious  feeling  in  the  music  may 
be,  the  music  itself  is  often  stronger  still,  and  breaks 
in  upon  the  drama  that  it  may  express  itself  freely. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  fine  symphonic  passage  that 
follows  the  arrival  of  Jesus  and  His  friends  at 
IMartha  and  Mary's  house,  after  the  death  of  their 
brother  (p.  12  et  seq.  of  Lazarus).  It  is  true  the 
orchestra  expresses  regrets  and  sighs,  the  excesses 
of  sorrow  mingled  with  words  of  consolation  and 
faith,  in  a  sort  of  languishing  funeral  march  that 
is  feminine  and  Christian  in  character.  This, 
according  to  the  composer,  is  a  picture  he  has 
painted  of  the  persons  in  the  drama  before  he  makes 


DON    LORENZO   PEROSI  203 

them  speak.  But,  in  spite  of  himself,  the  result  is 
a  flood  of  pure  music,  and  his  soul  sings  its  own  song 
of  joy  and  sadness.  Sometimes  his  spirit,  in  its 
naive  and  delicate  charm,  recalls  that  of  Mozart ; 
but  his  musical  visions  are  always  dominated  and 
directed  by  a  religious  strength  like  that  of  Bach. 
Even  the  portions  where  the  dramatic  feeling  is 
strongest  are  really  little  symphonies,  such  as  the 
music  that  describes  the  miracle  in  The  Trans- 
figuration, and  the  illness  of  Lazarus.  In  the  latter 
great  depth  of  suffering  is  expressed  ;  indeed,  sad- 
ness could  not  have  been  carried  farther  even  by 
Bach,  and  the  same  serenity  of  mind  runs  through 
its  despair. 

But  what  joy  there  is  when  these  deeds  of  faith 
have  been  performed — when  Jesus  has  cured  the 
possessed  man,  or  when  Lazarus  has  opened  his 
eyes  to  the  light.  The  heart  of  the  multitude  over- 
flows perhaps  in  rather  childish  thanksgiving  ;  and 
at  first  it  seemed  to  me  expressed  in  a  commonplace 
way.  But  did  not  the  joy  of  all  great  artists  so 
express  itself  ? — the  joy  of  Beethoven,  Mozart,  and 
Bach,  who,  when  once  they  had  thrown  their  cares 
aside,  knew  how  to  amuse  themselves  like  the  rest 
of  the  populace.  And  the  simple  phrase  at  the 
beginning  soon  assumes  fuller  proportions,  the  har- 
monies gain  in  richness,  a  glowing  ardour  fills  the 
music,  and  a  chorale  blends  with  the  dances  in 
triumphant  majesty. 

All  these  works  are  radiant  with  a  happy  ease  of 
expression.  The  Passion  was  finished  in  September, 
1897,     The    Transfiguration    in    February,     li 


204  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Lazarus  in  June,  1898,  and  The  Resurrection  oj 
Christ  in  November,  1898.  Such  an  output  of  work 
takes  us  back  to  eighteenth-century  musicians. 

But  this  is  not  the  only  resemblance  between  the 
young  musician  and  his  predecessors.  Much  of 
their  soul  has  passed  into  his.  His  style  is  made 
up  of  all  styles,  and  ranges  from  the  Gregorian  chant 
to  the  most  modern  modulations.  All  available 
materials  are  used  in  this  work.  This  is  an  Italian 
characteristic.  Gabriel  d'Annunzio  threw  into  his 
melting-pot  the  Renaissance,  the  Italian  painters, 
music,  the  writers  of  the  North,  Tolstoy,  Dos- 
toievsky, Maeterlinck,  and  our  French  writers,  and 
out  of  it  he  drew  his  w^onderful  poems.  So  Don 
Perosi,  in  his  compositions,  welds  together  the 
Gregorian  chant,  the  musical  style  of  the  con- 
trapuntists of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries, 
Palestrina,  Roland,  Gabrieli,  Carissimi,  Schutz, 
Bach,  Handel,  Gounod,  Wagner — I  was  going  to 
say  Cesar  Franck,  but  Don  Perosi  told  me  that  he 
hardly  knew  this  composer  at  all,  though  his  style 
bears  some  resemblance  to  Franck's. 

Time  does  not  exist  for  Don  Perosi.  When  he 
courteously  wished  to  praise  French  musicians,  the 
first  name  he  chose — as  if  it  were  that  of  a  con- 
temporary— was  that  of  Josquin,  and  then  that  of 
Roland  de  Lassus,  who  seems  to  him  so  great  and 
profound  a  musician  that  he  admires  him  most 
of  all.  And  Don  Perosi's  universahty  of  style  is  a 
trait  that  is  Catholic  as  well  as  Italian.  He  ex- 
presses his  mind  quite  clearly  on  the  subject, 
"  Great   artists   formerly,"   he  says,    "  were   more 


DON    LORENZO   PEROSI  205 

eclectic  than  ourselves,  and  less  fettered  by  their 
nationahties.  Josquin's  school  has  peopled  all 
Europe.  Roland  has  lived  in  Flanders,  in  Italy, 
and  in  Germany.  With  them  the  same  style  ex- 
pressed the  same  thought  everywhere.  We  must 
do  as  they  did.  We  must  try  to  recreate  a  universal 
art  in  which  the  resources  of  all  countries  and  all 
times  are  blended." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  do  not  think  this  is  quite 
correct.  I  rather  doubt  if  Josquin  and  Roland  were 
eclectic  at  all ;  for  they  did  not  really  combine  the 
styles  of  different  countries,  but  thrust  upon  other 
countries  the  style  that  the  Franco-Flemish  school 
had  just  created,  a  style  which  they  themselves  were 
enriching  daily.  But  Don  Perosi's  idea  deserves 
our  appreciation,  and  one  must  praise  his  en- 
deavour to  create  a  universal  style.  It  would  be 
a  good  thing  for  music  if  eclecticism,  thus  under- 
stood, could  bring  back  some  of  the  equilibrium 
that  has  been  lost  since  Wagner's  death ;  it  would 
be  a  benefit  to  the  human  spirit,  which  might 
then  find  in  the  unity  of  art  a  powerful  means  of 
bringing  about  the  unity  of  mind.  Our  aim  should 
be  to  efface  the  differences  of  race  in  art,  so  that  it 
may  become  a  tongue  common  to  all  peoples,  where 
the  most  opposite  ideas  may  be  reconciled.  We 
should  all  join  in  working  to  build  the  cathedral  of 
European  art.  And  the  place  of  the  director  of  the 
Sistine  chapel  among  the  first  builders  is  very 
plain. 


206  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Don  Perosi  sat  down  to  the  piano  and  played  me 
the  Te  Deum  of  The  Nativity,  which  he  had  written 
the  day  before.  He  played  very  sweetly,  with 
youthful  gaiety,  and  sang  the  choral  parts  in  an 
undertone.  Every  now  and  then  he  would  look  at 
me,  not  for  praise,  but  to  see  if  we  were  sharing  the 
same  thoughts.  He  would  look  me  well  in  the  face 
with  his  quiet  eyes,  then  turn  back  to  his  score,  and 
then  look  at  me  again.  And  I  felt  a  comforting 
calm  radiating  from  him  and  his  music,  from  its 
happy  harmony  and  the  full  and  rhythmic  serenity 
of  its  spirit.  And  how  pleasant  it  was  after  the 
tempests  and  convulsions  of  art  in  these  later  days. 
Can  we  not  tear  ourselves  away  from  that  romantic 
suffering  in  music  which  was  begun  by  Beethoven  ? 
After  a  century  of  battles,  of  revolutions,  and  of 
political  and  social  strife,  whose  pain  has  found  its 
reflection  in  art,  let  us  begin  to  build  a  new  city 
of  art,  where  men  may  gather  together  in  brotherly 
love  for  the  same  ideal.  However  Utopian  that  hope 
may  sound  now,  let  us  think  of  it  as  a  symptom  of 
new  directions  of  thought,  and  let  us  hope  that  Don 
Perosi  may  be  one  of  those  who  will  bring  into  music 
that  divine  peace,  that  peace  which  Beethoven  craved 
for  in  despair  at  the  end  of  his  Missa  Solemnis,  that 
joy  that  he  sang  about  but  never  knew. 


FRENCH    AND    GERMAN    MUSIC 

In  May,  1905,  the  first  musical  festival  of  Alsace- 
Lorraine  took  place  at  Strasburg.  It  was  an  im- 
portant artistic  event,  and  meant  the  bringing 
together  of  two  civilisations  that  for  centuries  had 
been  at  variance  on  the  soil  of  Alsace,  more  anxious 
for  dispute  than  for  mutual  understanding. 

The  official  programme  of  the  fetes  nmsicales  laid 
stress  on  the  reconciliatory  purpose  of  its  organisers, 
and  I  quote  these  words  from  the  programme  book, 
drawn  up  by  Dr.  Max  Bendiner,  of  Strasburg  : 

"  Music  may  achieve  the  highest  of  all  missions  : 
she  may  be  a  bond  between  nations,  races,  and 
states,  who  are  strangers  to  one  another  in  many 
ways  ;  she  may  unite  what  is  disunited,  and  bring 
peace  to  what  is  hostile.  ...  No  country  is 
more  suited  for  her  friendly  aid  than  Alsace- 
Lorraine,  that  old  meeting-place  of  people,  where 
from  time  immemorial  the  North  and  South  have 
exchanged  their  material  and  their  spiritual 
wealth  ;  and  no  place  is  readier  to  welcome  her 
than  Strasburg,  an  old  town  built  by  the  Romans, 
which  has  remained  to  this  day  a  centre  of 
spiritual  life.  All  great  intellectual  currents  have 
left  their  mark  on  the  people  of  Alsace-Lorraine  ; 
and  so  they  have  been  destined  to  play  the  part 
207 


208  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

of  mediator  between  different  times  and  different 
peoples  ;  and  the  East  and  the  West,  the  past 
and  the  present,  meet  here  and  join  hands.  In 
such  festivals  as  this,  it  is  not  a  matter  of  gaining 
aesthetic  victories  ;  it  is  a  matter  of  bringing 
together  all  that  is  great  and  noble  and  eternal 
in  the  art  of  different  times  and  different  nations." 

It  was  a  splendid  ambition  for  Alsace — the  eternal 
field  of  battle — to  wish  to  inaugurate  these  European 
Olympian  games.  But  in  spite  of  good  intentions, 
this  meeting  of  nations  resulted  in  a  fight,  on  musical 
ground,  between  two  civilisations  and  two  arts — ■ 
French  art  and  German  art.  For  these  two  arts 
represent  to-day  all  that  is  truly  alive  in  European 
music. 

Such  jousts  are  very  stirring,  and  may  be  of  great 
service  to  all  combatants.  But,  unhappily,  France 
was  very  indifferent  in  the  matter.  It  was  the  duty 
of  our  musicians  and  critics  to  attend  an  inter- 
national encounter  like  this,  and  to  see  that  the 
conditions  of  the  combat  were  fair.  By  that  I 
mean  our  art  should  be  represented  as  it  ought  to 
be,  so  that  we  may  learn  something  from  the  result. 
But  the  French  public  does  nothing  at  such  a  time  ; 
it  remains  absorbed  in  its  concerts  at  Paris,  where 
everyone  knows  everyone  else  so  well  that  they  are 
not  able  and  do  not  dare  to  criticise  freely.  And  so 
our  art  is  withering  away  in  an  atmosphere  of 
coteries,  instead  of  seeking  the  open  air  and  enjoying 
a  vigorous  fight  with  foreign  art.  For  the  majority 
of  our  critics  would  rather  deny  the  existence  of 


FRENCH  AND  GERMAN  MUSIC        2O9 

foreign  art  than  try  to  understand  it.  Never  have 
I  regretted  their  indifference  more  than  I  did  at  the 
Strasburg  festival,  where,  in  spite  of  the  unfavour- 
able conditions  in  which  French  art  was  represented 
through  our  own  carelessness,  I  realised  what  its 
force  might  have  been  if  we  had  been  interested 
spectators  in  the  fight. 


Perfect  eclecticism  had  been  exercised  in  the 
making  up  of  the  programme.  One  found  mixed 
together  the  names  of  Mozart,  Wagner,  and  Brahms  ; 
Cesar  Franck  and  Gustave  Charpentier  ;  Richard 
Strauss  and  Mahler.  There  were  French  singers  like 
Cazeneuve  and  Daraux,  and  French  and  Italian 
virtuosi  like  Henri  Marteau  and  Ferruccio  Busoni, 
together  with  German,  Austrian,  and  Scandinavian 
artists.  The  orchestra  (the  Strasshiirger  Stddtische 
Orchester)  and  the  choir,  which  was  formed  of 
different  Chorvereine  of  Strasburg,  were  conducted 
by  Richard  Strauss,  Gustav  Mahler,  and  Camille 
Chevillard.  But  the  names  of  these  famous  Kapell- 
meister must  not  let  us  forget  the  man  who  was 
really  the  soul  of  the  concerts — Professor  Ernst 
Miinch,  of  Strasburg,  an  Alsatian,  who  conducted 
all  the  rehearsals,  and  who  effaced  himself  at  the 
last  moment,  and  left  all  the  honours  to  the  con- 
ductors of  foreign  orchestras.  Professor  Miinch, 
who  is  also  organist  at  Saint-Guillaume,  has  done 
more  than  anyone  else  for  music  in  Strasburg,  and 
has  trained  excellent  choirs  (the  "  Chceurs  de 
Saint-Guillaume ")    there,   and   organised   splendid 


210  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

concerts  of  Bach's  music  with  the  aid  of  another 
Alsatian,  Albert  Schweitzer,  whose  name  is  well 
known  to  musical  historians.  The  latter  is  director 
of  the  clerical  college  of  St.  Thomas  (Thoniasstift) , 
a  pastor,  an  organist,  a  professor  at  the  University 
of  Strasburg,  and  the  author  of  interesting  works  on 
theology  and  philosophy.  Besides  this  he  has 
written  a  now  famous  book,  Jean-Sehastien  Bach, 
which  is  doubly  remarkable  :  first,  because  it  is 
written  in  French  (though  it  was  published  in 
Leipzig  by  a  professor  of  the  University  of  Stras- 
burg) ,  and  secondly,  because  it  shows  an  harmonious 
blend  of  the  French  and  German  spirit,  and  gives 
fresh  life  to  the  study  of  Bach  and  the  old  classic 
art.  It  was  very  interesting  to  me  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  these  people,  born  on  Alsatian  soil, 
and  representing  the  best  Alsatian  culture  and  all 
that  was  finest  in  the  two  civilisations. 

The  programme  for  the  three  days'  festival  was 
as  follows : 

Saturday,  May  20th. 

Oheron  Overture :  Weber  (conducted  by  Richard 
Strauss) . 

Les  Beatitudes :  Cesar  Franck  (conducted  by 
Camille  Chevillard). 

Impressions  d'ltalie  :  Gustav  Charpentier  (con- 
ducted by  Camille  Chevillard). 

Three  songs  by  Jean  Sibelius,  Hugo  Wolf,  Armas 
Jarnef elt  (sung  by  Mme.  Jarnef elt) . 

The  last  scene  from  Die  Meistersinger :  Wagner 
(conducted  by  Richard  Strauss), 


FRENCH  AND  GERMAN  MUSIC        211 

Sunday,  May  2ist. 

Cinquieme  Symphonic :  Gustav  Mahler  (con- 
ducted by  Gustav  Mahler) . 

Rhapsodic,  for  contralto,  choir,  and  orchestra  : 
Johannes  Brahms  (conducted  by  Ernst  Miinch) . 

Strashurg  Concerto  in  G  major,  for  violin  (played  by 
Henri  Marteau;  conducted  by  Richard  Strauss) . 

Sinfonia  domcstica  :  Richard  Strauss  (conducted 
by  Richard  Strauss). 

Monday,  May  22nd. 

CorioloM    Overture :     Beethoven    (conducted    by 

Gustav  Mahler) . 
Concerto    in    G    major,    for    piano :     Beethoven 

(played  by  Ferruccio  Busoni) . 
Lieder :    An    die  enfcrnte    Gelicbtc :     Beethoven 

(sung  by  Ludwig  Hess). 
Choral   Symphony :     Beethoven    (conducted    by 

Gustav  Mahler). 

M.  Chevillard  alone  represented  our  French 
musicians  at  the  festival ;  and  they  could  have  made 
no  better  choice  of  a  conductor.  But  Germany  had 
delegated  her  two  greatest  composers,  Strauss  and 
Mahler,  to  come  to  conduct  their  newest  composi- 
tions. And  I  think  it  would  not  have  been  too 
much  to  set  up  one  of  our  own  foremost  composers 
to  combat  the  glory  which  these  two  enjoy  in  their 
own  country. 

M.  Chevillard  had  been  asked  to  conduct,  not  one 
of  the  works  of  our  recent  masters,  like  Debussy  or 


212  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Dukas,  whose  style  he  renders  to  perfection,  but 
Franck's  L'es  Beatitudes,  a  work  whose  spirit  he 
does  not,  to  my  mind,  quite  understand.  The 
mystic  tenderness  of  Franck  escapes  him,  and  he 
brings  out  only  what  is  dramatic.  And  so  that  per- 
formance of  Les  Beatitudes,  though  in  many  re- 
spects fine,  left  an  imperfect  idea  of  Franck's 
genius. 

But  what  seemed  inconceivable,  and  what  justly 
annoyed  M.  Chevillard,  was  that  the  whole  of 
Les  Beatitudes  was  not  given,  but  only  a  section  of 
them.  And  on  this  subject  I  shall  take  the  liberty 
of  recommending  that  French  artists  who  are  guests 
at  similar  festivals  should  not  in  future  agree  to  a 
programme  with  their  eyes  shut,  but  have  their 
own  wishes  considered,  or  refuse  their  help.  If 
French  musicians  are  to  be  given  a  place  in  German 
Musikfeste,  French  people  must  be  allowed  to 
choose  the  works  that  are  to  represent  them.  And, 
above  all,  a  French  conductor  must  not  be  brought 
from  Paris,  and  find  on  his  arrival  a  mutilated 
score  and  an  arbitrary  choice  of  a  few  fragments 
that  are  not  even  whole  in  themselves.  For  they 
played  five  out  of  the  eight  Beatitudes,  and  cuts  had 
been  made  in  the  third  and  eighth  Beatitudes.  That 
showed  a  want  of  respect  for  art,  for  works  should 
be  given  as  they  are,  or  not  at  all. 

And  it  would  have  been  more  seemly  if  in  this 
three-day  festival  the  organisers  had  had  the 
courteousness  to  devote  the  first  day  to  French 
music,  and  had  set  aside  one  whole  concert  for  it. 
But,    without    doubt,    they    had    carefully    sand 


t"RENCH   AND   GERMAN   MUSIC  213 

wiched  the  French  works  in  between  German  works 
to  weaken  their  effect,  and  lessen  the  probable  (and 
actual)  enthusiasm  with  which  French  music  would 
be  received  in  the  presence  of  the  Statthalter  of 
Alsace-Lorraine  by  a  section  of  the  Alsatian  public. 
In  addition  to  this,  and  by  a  choice  that  neither 
myself  nor  anyone  else  in  Strasburg  could  believe 
was  dictated  by  musical  reasons,  the  German  work 
chosen  to  end  the  evening  was  the  final  scene  from 
Die  Meister singer,  with  its  ringing  couplet  from 
Hans  Sachs,  in  which  he  denounces  foreign  in- 
sincerity and  foreign  frivolity  {Wdlschen  Dunst  mit 
wdlschen  Tand) .  This  lack  of  courtesy — though  the 
words  were  really  nonsense  when  this  very  con- 
cert was  given  to  show  that  foreign  art  could  not 
be  ignored — would  not  be  worth  while  raking  up 
if  it  did  not  further  serve  to  show  how  regrettable  is 
the  indifference  of  French  artists  who  take  part  in 
these  festivals.  And  this  mistake  would  never  have 
occurred  if  they  had  taken  care  to  acquaint  them- 
selves with  the  programme  beforehand  and  put 
their  veto  upon  it. 

I  have  mentioned  this  little  incident  partly  be- 
cause my  views  were  shared  by  many  Alsatians  in 
the  audience,  who  expressed  their  annoyance  to  me 
afterwards.  But,  putting  it  aside,  our  French 
artists  ought  not  to  have  consented  to  let  our 
music  be  represented  by  a  mutilated  score  of  Les 
Beatitudes  and  by  Charpentier's  Impressions  d'ltalie, 
for  the  latter,  though  a  brilliantly  clever  work,  is 
not  of  the  first  rank,  and  was  too  easily  crushed  by 
one   of  Wagner's   most   stupendous  compositions. 


214  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

If  people  wish  to  institute  a  joust  between  French 
and  German  art,  let  it  be  a  fair  one,  I  repeat ;  let 
Wagner  be  matched  with  Berlioz,  and  Strauss  with 
Debussy,  and  Mahler  with  Dukas  or  Magnard. 


Such  were  the  conditions  of  the  combat ;  and 
they  were,  whether  intentionally  or  not,  unfavour- 
able to  France.  And  yet  to  the  eyes  of  an  impartial 
observer  the  result  was  full  of  hope  and  encourage- 
ment for  us. 

I  have  never  bothered  myself  in  art  with  questions 
of  nationality.  I  have  not  even  concealed  my 
preference  for  German  music ;  and  I  consider, 
even  to-day,  that  Richard  Strauss  is  the  foremost 
musical  composer  in  Europe.  Having  said  this,  I 
am  freer  to  speak  of  the  strange  impression  that  I 
had  at  the  Strasburg  festival — an  impression  of  the 
change  that  is  coming  over  music,  and  the  way  that 
French  art  is  silently  setting  about  taking  the  place 
of  German  art. 

"  Wdlschen  DunstundwdlschenTand,"  .  .  .  How 
that  reproachful  speech  seems  to  be  misplaced  when 
one  is  listening  to  the  honest  thought  expressed  in 
Cesar  Franck's  music.  In  Les  Beatitudes,  nothing, 
or  next  to  nothing,  was  done  for  art's  sake.  It  is 
the  soul  speaking  to  the  soul.  As  Beethoven  wrote, 
at  the  end  of  his  mass  in  D,  "  Vom  Herzen  .  .  .  zti 
Herzen!  "  ("  It  comes  from  the  heart  to  go  to  the 
heart ") .  I  know  no  one  but  Franck  in  the  last  century, 
unless  it  is  Beethoven,  who  has  possessed  in  so  high 
a  degree  the  virtue  of  being  himself  and  -speaking 


FRENCH  AND   GERMAN   MUSIC  ±1^ 

only  the  truth  without  thought  of  his  pubhc.  Never 
before  has  rehgious  faith  been  expressed  with  such 
sincerity.  Franck  is  the  only  musician  besides  Bach 
who  has  really  see7i  the  Christ,  and  who  can  make 
other  people  see  him  too.  I  would  even  venture  to 
say  that  his  Christ  is  simpler  than  Bach's  ;  for 
Bach's  thoughts  are  often  led  away  by  the  interest 
of  developing  his  subject,  by  certain  habits  of  com- 
position, and  by  repetitions  and  clever  devices, 
which  weaken  his  strength.  In  Franck's  music  we 
get  Christ's  speech  itself,  unadorned  and  in  all  its 
living  force.  And  in  the  wonderful  harmony 
between  the  music  and  the  sacred  w^ords  we  hear  the 
voice  of  the  world's  conscience.  I  once  heard  some- 
one say  to  Mme.  Cosima  Wagner  that  certain 
passages  in  Parsifal,  particularly  the  chorus  "  Durch 
Mitleid  wissend,"  had  a  quality  that  was  truly  re- 
ligious and  the  force  of  a  revelation.  But  I  find  a 
greater  force  and  a  more  truly  Christian  spirit  in 
Les  Beatitudes. 

And  here  is  an  astonishing  thing.  At  this  German 
musical  festival  it  was  a  Frenchman  who  repre- 
sented not  only  serious  music  moulded  in  a  classi- 
cal form,  but  a  religious  spirit  and  the  spirit  of  the 
Gospels.  The  characters  of  two  nations  have  been 
reversed.  The  Germans  have  so  changed  that  they 
are  only  able  to  appreciate  this  seriousness  and 
religious  faith  with  difficulty.  I  watched  the 
audience  on  this  occasion  ;  they  listened  politely,  a 
Httle  astonished  and  bored,  as  if  to  say,  "  What 
business  has  this  Frenchman  with  depth  and  piety 
of  soul  ?  " 


2l6  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

"  There  is  no  doubt,"  said  Henri  Lichtenberger, 
who  sat  by  me  at  the  concert,  "  our  music  is  be- 
ginning to  bore  the  Germans." 

It  was  only  the  other  day  that  German  music 
enjoyed  the  privilege  of  boring  us  in  France. 

And  so,  to  make  up  for  the  austere  grandeur 
of  Les  Beatitudes  they  had  it  immediately  followed 
by  Gustave  Charpentier's  Impressions  d'ltalie.  You 
should  have  seen  the  relief  of  the  audience.  At  last 
they  were  to  have  some  French  music — as  Germans 
understand  it.  Charpentier  is,  of  all  living  French 
musicians,  the  most  liked  in  Germany ;  he  is  indeed 
the  only  one  who  is  popular  with  artists  and  the 
general  public  alike.  Shall  I  say  that  the  sincere 
pleasure  they  take  in  his  orchestration  and  the  gay 
life  of  his  subjects  is  enhanced  a  little  by  a  slight 
disdain  for  French  frivolity — wdlschen  Tand  ? 

*'  Now  listen  to  that,"  said  Richard  Strauss  to 
me  during  the  third  movement  of  Impressions 
d'ltalie  ;  "  that  is  the  true  music  of  Montmartre, 
the  utterance  of  fine  words  .  .  .  Liberty  !  .  .  . 
Love  !  .  .  .  which  no  one  believes." 

And  on  the  whole  he  found  the  music  quite 
charming,  and,  without  doubt,  in  the  depths  of  his 
heart  approved  of  this  Frenchman  according  to 
conventional  notions  that  are  current  in  Germany 
alone.  Strauss  is  really  very  fond  of  Charpentier, 
and  was  his  patron  in  Berhn  ;  and  I  remember 
how  he  showed  childish  delight  in  Louise  when  it 
was  first  performed  in  Paris. 

But  Strauss,  and  most  other  Germans,  are  quite 
on  the  wrong  track  when  they  try  to  persuade 


FRENCH   AND   GERMAN   MUSIC  217 

themselves  that  this  amusing  French  frivoHty  is  still 
the  exclusive  property  of  France.  They  really  love 
it  because  it  has  become  German  ;  and  they  are 
quite  unconscious  of  the  fact.  The  German  artists 
of  other  times  did  not  find  much  pleasure  in  frivolity ; 
but  I  could  have  easily  shown  Strauss  his  liking  for 
it  by  taking  examples  from  his  own  works.  The 
Germans  of  to-day  have  but  little  in  common  with 
the  Germans  of  yesterday. 

I  am  not  speaking  of  the  general  public  only. 
The  German  public  of  to-day  are  devotees  of  Brahms 
and  Wagner,  and  everything  of  theirs  seems  good 
to  them  ;  they  have  no  discrimination,  and,  while 
they  applaud  Wagner  and  encore  Brahms,  they  are, 
in  their  hearts,  not  only  frivolous,  but  sentimental 
and  gross.  The  most  striking  thing  about  this 
public  is  their  cult  of  power  since  Wagner's  death. 
When  listening  to  the  end  of  Die  Meistersinger  I 
felt  how  the  haughty  music  of  the  great  march 
reflected  the  spirit  of  this  military  nation  of  shop- 
keepers, bursting  with  rude  health  and  complacent 
pride. 

The  most  remarkable  thing  of  all  is  that  German 
artists  are  gradually  losing  the  power  of  under- 
standing their  own  splendid  classics  and,  in  par- 
ticular, Beethoven.  Strauss,  who  is  very  shrewd  and 
knows  exactly  his  own  limitations,  does  not  willingly 
enter  Beethoven's  domain,  though  he  feels  his  spirit 
in  a  much  more  living  way  than  any  of  the  other 
German  Kapellmeister.  At  the  Strasburg  festival 
he  contented  himself  with  conducting,  besides  his 
own  symphony,  the  Oberon  Overhire  and  a  Mozart 


2l8  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

concerto.  These  performances  were  interesting ; 
a  personality  like  his  is  so  curious  that  it  is  quite 
amusing  to  find  it  coming  out  in  the  works  he  con- 
ducts. But  how  Mozart's  features  took  on  an 
offhand  and  impatient  air  ;  and  how  the  rhythms 
were  accentuated  at  the  expense  of  the  melodic 
grace.  In  this  case,  however,  Strauss  was  dealing 
with  a  concerto,  where  a  certain  liberty  of  inter- 
pretation is  allowed.  But  Mahler,  who  was  less 
discreet,  ventured  upon  conducting  the  whole  of 
the  Beethoven  concert.  And  what  can  be  said  of 
that  evening  ?  I  will  not  speak  of  the*Concerto  for 
pianoforte,  in  G  major,  which  Busoni  played  with 
a  brilliant  and  superficial  execution  tkat  took  away 
all  breadth  from  the  work  ;  it  is  enough  to  note  that 
his  interpretation  was  enthusiastically  received  by 
the  public.  German  artists  were  not  responsible 
for  that  performance ;  but  they  were  responsible 
for  that  fine  cycle  of  Lieder,  An  die  entfernte  Geliehte, 
which  was  bellowed  by  a  Berlin  tenor  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  and  for  the  Choral  Symphony,  which  was, 
for  me,  an  unspeakable  performance.  I  could  never 
have  believed  that  a  German  orchestra  conducted 
by  the  chief  Kapellmeister  of  Austria  could  have 
committed  such  misdeeds.  The  time  v/as  in- 
credible :  the  scherzo  had  no  life  in  it ;  the  adagio 
was  taken  in  hot  haste  without  leaving  a  moment 
for  dreams  ;  and  there  were  pauses  in  the  finale 
which  destroyed  the  development  of  the  theme  and 
broke  the  thread  of  its  thought.  The  different  parts 
of  the  orchestra  fell  over  one  another,  and  the  whole 
was   uncertain   and   lacking   in   balance.      I   once 


FRENCH  AND  GERMAN  MUSIC        2ig 

severely  criticised  the  neo-classic  stiffness  of  Wein- 
gartner  ;  but  I  should  have  appreciated  his  healthy 
equilibrium  and  his  effort  to  be  exact  after  hearing 
this  neurasthenic  rendering  of  Beethoven.  No  ;  we 
can  no  longer  hear  Beethoven  and  Mozart  in  Ger- 
many to-day,  we  can  only  hear  Mahler  and  Strauss. 
Well,  let  it  be  so.  We  will  resign  ourselves.  The 
past  is  past.  Let  us  leave  Beethoven  and  Mozart, 
and  speak  of  Mahler  and  Strauss. 


Gustav  Mahler  is  forty-six  years  old.^  He  is  a 
kind  of  legendary  type  of  German  musician,  rather 
like  Schubert,  and  half-way  between  a  school- 
master and  a  clergyman.  He  has  a  long,  clean- 
shaven face,  a  pointed  skull  covered  with  untidy 
hair,  a  bald  forehead,  a  prominent  nose,  eyes  that 
blink  behind  his  glasses,  a  large  mouth  and  thin 
lips,  hollow  cheeks,  a  rather  tired  and  sarcastic 
expression,  and  a  general  air  of  asceticism.  He  is 
excessively  nervous,  and  silhouette  caricatures  of 
him,  representing  him  as  a  cat  in  convulsions  in 
the  conductor's  desk,  are  very  popular  in  Germany. 

He  was  born  at  Kalischt  in  Bohemia,  and  became 
a  pupil  of  Anton  Bruckner  at  Vienna,  and  after- 
wards Hofoperndirecktor  ("Director  of  the  Opera") 
there.  I  hope  one  day  to  study  this  artist's  work 
in  greater  detail,  for  he  is  second  only  to  Strauss  as 
a  composer  in  Germany,  and  the  principal  musician 
of  South  Germany. 

His   most   important  work   is   a   suite   of  sym- 

^  This  essay  was  written  in  1905. 


220  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

phonies;  and  it  was  the  fifth  symphony  of  this 
suite  that  he  conducted  at  the  Strasburg  festival. 
The  first  symphony,  called  Titan,  was  composed 
in  1894.  The  construction  of  the  whole  is  on  a 
massive  and  gigantic  scale  ;  and  the  melodies  on 
which  these  works  are  built  up  are  like  rough-hewn 
blocks  of  not  very  good  quality,  but  imposing  by 
reason  of  their  size,  and  by  the  obstinate  repetition 
of  their  rhythmic  design,  which  is  maintained  as  if 
it  were  an  obsession.  This  heaping-up  of  music 
both  crude  and  learned  in  style,  with  harmonies 
that  are  sometimes  clumsy  and  sometimes  delicate, 
is  w^orth  considering  on  account  of  its  bulk.  The 
orchestration  is  heavy  and  noisy  ;  and  the  brass 
dominates  and  roughly  gilds  the  rather  sombre 
colouring  of  the  great  edifice.  The  underlying  idea 
of  the  composition  is  neo-classic,  and  rather  spongy 
and  diffuse.  Its  harmonic  structure  is  composite  : 
we  get  the  style  of  Bach,  Schubert,  and  Men- 
delssohn fighting  that  of  Wagner  and  Bruckner ; 
and,  by  a  decided  liking  for  canon  form,  it  even 
recalls  some  of  Franck's  work.  The  whole  is  like 
a  showy  and  expensive  collection  of  bric-a-brac. 

The  chief  characteristic  of  these  symphonies  is, 
generally  speaking,  the  use  of  choral  singing  with 
the  orchestra.  "  When  I  conceive  a  great  musical 
painting  (ein  grosses  musikalisches  Gemdlde),"  says 
Mahler,  "  there  always  comes  a  moment  when  I 
feel  forced  to  employ  speech  (das  Wort)  as  an  aid  to 
the  realisation  of  my  musical  conception." 

Mahler  has  got  some  striking  effects  from  this 
combination  of  voices  and  instruments,  and  he  did 


FRENCH   AND   GERMAN   MUSIC  221 

well  to  seek  inspiration  in  this  direction  from 
Beethoven  and  Liszt.  It  is  incredible  that  the 
nineteenth  century  should  have  put  this  combina- 
tion to  so  little  use ;  for  I  think  the  gain  may  be 
poetical  as  well  as  musical. 

In  the  Second  Symphony  in  C  minor,  the  first 
three  parts  are  purely  instrumental ;  but  in  the 
fourth  part  the  voice  of  a  contralto  is  heard  singing 
these  sad  and  simple  words  : 

"  Der  Mensch  liegt  in  gross ter  Noth  / 
Der  Me7isch  liegt  in  gross  ter  Pei?i  / 
Je  lieber  mocht^  ich  iin  Hijumel  sein  !  "  ^ 

The  soul  strives  to  reach  God  with  the  passionate 

^  '       "  /c/i  bin  von  Gott  und  will  wieder  zu  Gott.'^  2 

Then  there  is  a  symphonic  episode  [Bcy  Rufer  in 
der  Wiiste),  and  we  hear  "the  voice  of  one  crying 
in  the  wilderness  "  in  fierce  and  anguished  tones. 
There  is  an  apocalyptic  finale  where  the  choir  sing 
Klopstock's  beautiful  ode  on  the  promise  of  the 
Resurrection  : 

'■'■Aufersieh'iija,  aufersteKn  wirst  du,  ?nein  Slaiib,  ?tach 
kurzer  Riih  !  "  ^ 

The  law  is  proclaimed  with  : 

"  Was  entsianden  is  I,  dass  7n7is  verge/ien^ 
Was  vergangen,  auferslehe?i  /  '^  ^ 

^  Man  lies  in  greatest  misery  ; 
Man  lies  in  greatest  pain  ; 
I  would  I  were  in  Heaven  ! 

2  I  come  from  God,  and  shall  to  God  return. 

3  Thou  wilt  rise  again,  thou  wilt  rise  again,  O  my  dust,  after 
a  little  rest. 

*  What  is  born  must  pass  away  ; 
What  has  passed  away  must  rise  again. 


222  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

And  all  the  orchestra,  the  choirs,  and  the  organ, 
join  in  the  hymn  of  Eternal  Life. 

In  the  Third  Symphony,  known  as  Ein  Sommer- 
morgentraum  ("  A  Summer  Morning's  Dream "), 
the  first  and  the  last  parts  are  for  the  orchestra 
alone  ;  the  fourth  part  contains  some  of  the  best 
of  Mahler's  music,  and  is  an  admirable  setting  of 
Nietzsche's  words  : 

"  0  Memch  !  0  Mensch  /  Gib  Acht I  ^ib  Acht ! 
Was  spricht  die  tiefe  Mittenmcht  ?  "  ^ 

The  fifth  part  is  a  gay  and  stirring  chorus  founded 
on  a  popular  legend. 

In  the  Fourth  Symphony  ui  G  major,  the  last  part 
alone  is  sung,  and  is  of  an  almost  humorous  charac- 
ter, being  a  sort  of  childish  description  of  the  joys 
of  Paradise. 

In  spite  of  appearances,  Mahler  refuses  to  con- 
nect these  choral  symphonies  with  programme- 
music.  Without  doubt  he  is  right,  if  he  means  that 
his  music  has  its  own  value  outside  any  sort  of 
programme  ;  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  is  always 
the  expression  of  a  definite  Stimmung,  of  a  conscious 
mood ;  and  the  fact  is,  whether  he  likes  it  or  not, 
that  Stimmung  gives  an  interest  to  his  music 
far  beyond  that  of  the  music  itself.  His  person- 
ality seems  to  me  far  more  interesting  than  his 
art. 

This  is  often  the  case  with  artists  in  Germany ; 
Hugo   Wolf  is   another  example   of  it.     Mahler's 

1  O  Man  !    O  Man  !    Have  care  !    Have  care  ! 
What  says  dark  midnight  ? 


FRENCH   AND   GERMAN   MUSIC  223 

case  is  really  rather  curious.  When  one  studies  his 
works  one  feels  convinced  that  he  is  one  of  those 
rare  types  in  modern  Germany — an  egoist  who  feels 
with  sincerity.  Perhaps  his  emotions  and  his  ideas 
do  not  succeed  in  expressing  themselves  in  a  really 
sincere  and  personal  way  ;  for  they  reach  us  through 
a  cloud  of  reminiscences  and  an  atmosphere  of 
classicism.  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  Mahler's 
position  as  director  of  the  Opera,  and  his  consequent 
saturation  in  the  music  that  his  calling  condemns 
him  to  study,  is  the  cause  of  this.  There  is  nothing 
more  fatal  to  a  creative  spirit  than  too  much  reading, 
above  all  when  it  does  not  read  of  its  own  free  will, 
but  is  forced  to  absorb  an  excessive  amount  of 
nourishment,  the  larger  part  of  which  is  indi- 
gestible. In  vain  may  Mahler  try  to  defend  the 
sanctuary  of  his  mind  ;  it  is  violated  by  foreign 
ideas  coming  from  all  parts,  and  instead  of  being 
able  to  drive  them  away,  his  conscience,  as  con- 
ductor of  the  orchestra,  obliges  him  to  receive  them 
and  almost  embrace  them.  With  his  feverish 
activity,  and  burdened  as  he  is  with  heavy  tasks, 
he  works  unceasingly  and  has  no  time  to  dream. 
Mahler  will  only  be  Mahler  when  he  is  able  to 
leave  his  administrative  work,  shut  up  his 
scores,  retire  within  himself,  and  wait  patiently 
until  he  has  become  himself  again — if  it  is  not  too 
late. 

His  Fifth  Symphony,  which  he  conducted  at 
Strasburg,  convinced  me,  more  than  all  his  other 
works,  of  the  urgent  necessity  of  adopting  this 
course.     In  this  composition  he  has  not  allowed 


224  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

himself  the  use  of  the  choruses,  which  were  one  of 
the  chief  attractions  of  his  preceding  symphonies. 
He  wished  to  prove  that  he  could  write  pure  music, 
and  to  make  his  claim  surer  he  refused  to  have  any 
explanation  of  his  composition  published  in  the 
concert  programme,  as  the  other  composers  in  the 
festival  had  done  ;  he  wished  it,  therefore,  to  be 
judged  from  a  strictly  musical  point  of  view.  It 
was  a  dangerous  ordeal  for  him. 

Though  I  wished  very  much  to  admire  the  work 
of  a  composer  whom  I  held  in  such  esteem,  I  felt 
it  did  not  come  out  very  w^ell  from  the  test.  To 
begin  with,  this  symphony  is  excessively  long — 
it  lasts  an  hour  and  a  half — though  there  is  no  ap- 
parent justification  for  its  proportions.  It  aims  at 
being  colossal,  and  mainly  achieves  emptiness.  The 
motifs  are  more  than  familiar.  After  a  funeral 
march  of  commonplace  character  and  boisterous 
movement,  where  Beethoven  seems  to  be  taking 
lessons  from  Mendelssohn,  there  comes  a  scherzo,  or 
rather  a  Viennese  waltz,  where  Chabrier  gives  old 
Bach  a  helping  hand.  The  adagietto  has  a  rather 
sweet  sentimentaUty.  The  rondo  at  the  end  is  pre- 
sented rather  like  an  idea  of  Franck's,  and  is  the 
best  part  of  the  composition  ;  it  is  carried  out  in 
a  spirit  of  mad  intoxication  and  a  chorale  rises  up 
from  it  with  crashing  joy ;  but  the  effect  of  the 
whole  is  lost  in  repetitions  that  choke  it  and  make 
it  heavy.  Through  all  the  work  runs  a  mixture  of 
pedantic  stiffness  and  incoherence  ;  it  moves  along 
in  a  desultory  way,  and  suffers  from  abrupt  checks 
in  the  course  of  its  development  and  from  super- 


FRENCH   AND   GERMAN   MUSIC  225 

fluous  ideas  that  break  in  for  no  reason  at  all,  with 
the  result  that  the  whole  hangs  fire. 

Above  all,  I  fear  Mahler  has  been  sadly  hypnotised 
by  ideas  about  power — ideas  that  are  getting  to  the 
head  of  all  German  artists  to-day.  He  seems  to 
have  an  undecided  mind,  and  to  combine  sadness 
and  irony  with  weakness  and  impatience,  to  be  a 
Viennese  musician  striving  after  Wagnerian  gran- 
deur. No  one  expresses  the  grace  of  Ldndler  and 
dainty  waltzes  and  mournful  reveries  better  than 
he  ;  and  perhaps  no  one  is  nearer  the  secret  of 
Schubert's  moving  and  voluptuous  melancholy ; 
and  it  is  Schubert  he  recalls  at  times,  both  in  his 
good  qualities  and  certain  of  his  faults.  But  he 
wants  to  be  Beethoven  or  Wagner.  And  he  is 
wrong  ;  for  he  lacks  their  balance  and  gigantic 
force.  One  saw  that  only  too  well  when  he  was 
conducting  the  Choral  Syjnphony. 

But  whatever  he  may  be,  or  whatever  disappoint- 
ment he  may  have  brought  me  at  Strasburg,  I  will 
never  allow  myself  to  speak  lightly  or  scoffingly  of 
him.  I  am  confident  that  a  musician  with  so  lofty 
an  aim  will  one  day  create  a  work  worthy  of  himself. 


Richard  Strauss  is  a  complete  contrast  to  Mahler. 
He  has  always  the  air  of  a  heedless  and  discontented 
child.  Tall  and  slim,  rather  elegant  and  super- 
cilious, he  seems  to  be  of  a  more  refined  race  than 
most  other  German  artists  of  to-day.  Scornful, 
blase  with  success,  and  very  exacting,  his  bearing 
towards  other  musicians  has  nothing  of  Mahler's 
Q 


226  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

winning  modesty.  He  is  not  less  nervous  than 
Mahler,  and  while  he  is  conducting  the  orchestra 
he  seems  to  indulge  in  a  frenzied  dance  which 
follows  the  smallest  details  of  his  music — music 
that  is  as  agitated  as  limpid  water  into  which  a 
stone  has  been  flung.  But  he  has  a  great  advan- 
tage over  Mahler  ;  he  knows  how  to  rest  after 
his  labours.  Both  excitable  and  sleepy  by  nature, 
his  highly-strung  nerves  are  counterbalanced  by  his 
indolence,  and  there  is  in  the  depths  of  him  a  Ba- 
varian love  of  luxury.  I  am  quite  sure  that  when 
his  hours  of  intense  living  are  over,  after  he  has 
spent  an  excessive  amount  of  energy,  he  has  hours 
when  he  is  only  partially  alive.  One  then  sees  his 
eyes  with  a  vague  and  sleepy  look  in  them  ;  and 
he  is  like  old  Rameau,  who  used  to  walk  about  for 
hours  as  if  he  were  an  automaton,  seeing  nothing 
and  thinking  of  nothing. 

At  Strasburg  Strauss  conducted  his  Sinfonia 
Doniestica,  whose  programme  seems  boldly  to  defy 
reason,  and  even  good  taste.  In  the  symphony  he 
pictures  himself  with  his  wife  and  his  boy  ("  Meiner 
lieben  Frau  und  tinserm  Jungen  gewidmet "). 
"  I  do  not  see,"  said  Strauss,  "  why  I  should  not 
compose  a  symphony  about  myself ;  I  find  myself 
quite  as  interesting  as  Napoleon  or  Alexander." 
Some  people  have  replied  that  everybody  else  might 
not  share  his  interest.  But  I  shall  not  use  that 
argument ;  it  is  quite  possible  for  an  artist  of 
Strauss's  worth  to  keep  us  entertained.  What 
grates  upon  me  more  is  the  way  in  which  he  speaks 
of  himself,    The  disproportion  between  his  subject 


FRENCH   AND   GERMAN   MUSIC  227 

and  the  means  he  has  of  expressing  it  is  too  strong. 
Above  all,  I  do  not  like  this  display  of  the  inner  and 
secret  self.  There  is  a  want  of  reticence  in  this 
Sinfonia  Domestica.  The  fireside,  the  sitting-room, 
and  the  bedchamber,  are  open  to  all-comers.  Is 
this  the  family  feeling  of  Germany  to-day  ?  I  admit 
that  the  first  time  I  heard  the  work  it  jarred  upon 
me  for  purely  moral  reasons,  in  spite  of  the  liking 
I  have  for  its  composer.  But  afterwards  I  altered 
my  first  opinion,  and  found  the  music  admirable. 
Do  you  know  the  programme  ? 

The  first  part  shows  you  three  people  :  a  man,  a 
woman,  and  a  child.  The  man  is  represented  by 
three  themes  :  a  motif  full  of  spirit  and  humour,  a 
thoughtful  motif,  and  a  motif  expressing  eager  and 
enthusiastic  action.  The  woman  has  only  two 
themes  :  one  expressing  caprice,  and  the  other  love 
and  tenderness.  The  child  has  a  single  motif,  which 
is  quiet,  innocent,  and  not  very  defined  in  character  ; 
its  real  value  is  not  shown  until  it  is  developed.  .  .  . 
Which  of  the  two  parents  is  he  like?  The  family 
sit  round  him  and  discuss  him.  "  He  is  just  like  his 
father  "  [Ganz  der  Papa),  say  the  aunts.  "  He  is  the 
image  of  his  mother"  {Ganz  die  Mama),  say  the 
uncles. 

The  second  part  of  the  symphony  is  a  scherzo 
which  represents  the  child  at  play ;  there  are 
terribly  noisy  games,  games  of  Herculean  gaiety, 
and  you  can  hear  the  parents  talking  all  over  the 
house.  How  far  w^e  seem  from  Schumann's  good 
little  children  and  their  simple-hearted  families  ! 
At  last  the  child  is  put  to  bed ;   they  rock  him  to 


228  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

sleep,  and  the  clock  strikes  seven.  Night  comes. 
There  are  dreams  and  some  uneasy  sleep.  Then  a 
love  scene.  .  .  .  The  clock  strikes  seven  in  the 
morning.  Everybody  wakes  up,  and  there  is  a 
merry  discussion.  We  hear  a  double  fugue  in  which 
the  theme  of  the  man  and  the  theme  of  the  woman 
contradict  each  other  with  exasperating  and  ludi- 
crous obstinacy  ;  and  the  man  has  the  last  word. 
Finally  there  is  the  apotheosis  of  the  child  and 
family  life. 

Such  a  programme  serves  rather  to  lead  the  lis- 
tener astray  than  to  guide  him.  It  spoils  the  idea  of 
the  work  by  emphasising  its  anecdotal  and  rather 
comic  side.  For  without  doubt  the  comic  side  is 
there,  and  Strauss  has  warned  us  in  vain  that  he 
did  not  wish  to  make  an  amusing  picture  of  married 
life,  but  to  praise  the  sacredness  of  marriage  and 
parenthood  ;  but  he  possesses  such  a  strong  vein 
of  humour  that  it  cannot  help  getting  the  better 
of  him.  There  is  nothing  really  grave  or  religious 
about  the  music,  except  w^hen  he  is  speaking  of  the 
child  ;  and  then  the  rough  merriment  of  the  man 
grows  gentle,  and  the  irritating  coquetry  of  the 
woman  becomes  exquisitely  tender.  Otherwise 
Strauss's  satire  and  love  of  jesting  get  the  upper 
hand,  and  reach  an  almost  epic  gaiety  and  strength. 

But  one  must  forget  this  unwdse  programme,  which 
borders  on  bad  taste  and  at  times  on  something 
even  worse.  When  one  has  succeeded  in  forgetting 
it  one  discovers  a  well-proportioned  symphony  in 
four  parts — Allegro,  Scherzo,  Adagio,  and  Finale  in 
fugue  form — and  one  of  the  finest  works  in  contem- 


FRENCH   AND   GERMAN   MUSIC  229 

porary  music.  It  has  the  passionate  exuberance 
of  Strauss's  preceding  symphony,  Heldenleben,  but 
it  is  superior  in  artistic  construction  ;  one  may  even 
say  that  it  is  Strauss's  most  perfect  work  since  Tod 
und  Verkldmng  ("Death  and  Transfiguration"), 
with  a  richness  of  colouring  and  technical  skill  that 
Tod  und  Verkldmng  did  not  possess.  One  is  dazzled 
by  the  beauty  of  an  orchestration  which  is  light 
and  phant,  and  capable  of  expressing  dehcate  shades 
of  feehng  ;  and  this  struck  me  the  more  after  the 
solid  massiveness  of  Mahler's  orchestration,  which 
is  like  heavy  unleavened  bread.  With  Strauss 
everything  is  full  of  life  and  sinew,  and  there  is 
nothing  wasted.  Possibly  the  first  setting-out  of  his 
themes  has  rather  too  schematic  a  character ;  and 
perhaps  the  melodic  utterance  is  rather  restricted 
and  not  very  lofty  ;  but  it  is  very  personal,  and  one 
finds  it  impossible  to  disassociate  his  personality 
from  these  vigorous  themes  that  burn  with  youthful 
ardour,  and  cut  the  air  like  arrows,  and  twist  them- 
selves in  freakish  arabesques.  In  the  adagio  de- 
picting night,  there  is,  though  in  very  bad  taste, 
much  seriousness  and  reverie  and  stirring  emotion. 
The  fugue  at  the  end  is  of  astonishing  sprightliness  ; 
and  is  a  mixture  of  colossal  jesting  and  heroic  pas- 
toral poetry  worthy  of  Beethoven,  whose  style  it 
recalls  in  the  breadth  of  its  development.  The 
final  apotheosis  is  filled  with  life  ;  its  joy  makes  the 
heart  beat.  The  most  extravagant  harmonic  effects 
and  the  most  abominable  discords  are  softened  and 
almost  disappear  in  the  wonderful  combination  of 
timbres.      It  is  the  work  of  a  strong  and  sensual 


230  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

artist,  the  true  heir  of  the  Wagner  of  the  Meister- 
singer. 


Upon  the  whole,  these  works  make  one  see  that, 
in  spite  of  their  apparent  audacity,  Strauss  and 
Mahler  are  beginning  to  make  a  surreptitious  retreat 
from  their  early  standpoint,  and  are  abandoning  the 
symphony  with  a  programme.  Strauss's  last  work 
will  lose  nothing  by  calling  itself  quite  simply 
Sinfonia  Domestica,  without  adding  any  further 
information.  It  is  a  true  symphony ;  and  the 
same  may  be  said  of  Mahler's  composition.  But 
Strauss  and  Mahler  are  already  reforming  them- 
selves, and  are  coming  back  to  the  model  of  the 
classic  symphony. 

But  there  are  more  important  conclusions  to  be 
drawn  from  a  hearing  of  this  kind.  The  first  is  that 
Strauss's  talent  is  becoming  more  and  more  excep- 
tional in  the  music  of  his  country.  With  all  his 
faults,  which  are  considerable,  Strauss  stands  alone 
in  his  warmth  of  imagination,  in  his  unquenchable 
spontaneity  and  perpetual  youth.  And  his  know- 
ledge and  his  art  are  growing  every  day  in  the 
midst  of  other  German  art  which  is  growing  old. 
German  music  in  general  is  showing  some  grave 
symptoms.  I  will  not  dwell  on  its  neurasthenia,  for 
it  is  passing  through  a  crisis  which  will  teach  it 
wisdom  ;  but  I  fear,  nevertheless,  that  this  excessive 
nervous  excitement  will  be  followed  by  torpor. 
What  is  really  disquieting  is  that,  in  spite  of  all  the 
talent  that  still  abounds,  Germany  is  fast  losing  her 


FRENCH  AND  GERMAN   MUSIC  23I 

chief  musical  endowments.  Her  melodic  charm  has 
nearly  disappeared.  One  could  search  the  music  of 
Strauss,  Mahler,  or  Hugo  Wolf,  without  finding  a 
melody  of  any  real  value,  or  of  any  true  originality, 
outside  its  application  to  a  text,  or  a  hterary  idea, 
and  its  harmonic  development.  And  besides  that, 
German  music  is  daily  losing  its  intimate  spirit ; 
there  are  still  traces  of  this  spirit  in  Wolf,  thanks 
to  his  exceptionally  unhappy  life ;  but  there  is 
very  little  of  it  in  Mahler,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts 
to  concentrate  his  mind  on  himself ;  and  there  is 
hardly  any  at  all  in  Strauss,  although  he  is  the  most 
interesting  of  the  three  composers.  German  musi- 
cians have  no  longer  any  depth. 

I  have  said  that  I  attribute  this  fact  to  the 
detestable  influence  of  the  theatre,  to  which  nearly 
all  these  artists  are  attached  as  Kapellmeister,  or 
directors  of  opera.  To  this  they  owe  the  melo- 
dramatic character  of  their  music,  even  though  it  is 
on  the  surface  only — music  written  for  show,  and 
aiming  chiefly  at  effect. 

More  baneful  even  than  the  influence  of  the 
theatre  is  the  influence  of  success.  These  musicians 
have  nowadays  too  many  facilities  for  having  their 
music  played.  A  work  is  played  almost  before  it  is 
finished,  and  the  musician  has  no  time  to  live  with 
his  work  in  solitude  and  silence.  Besides  this,  the 
works  of  the  chief  German  musicians  are  supported 
by  tremendous  booming  of  some  kind  or  another  : 
by  their  Musikfeste,  by  their  critics,  their  press,  and 
their  "Musical  Guides"  {Musikfiihrer),  which  are 
apologetic  explanations   of  their  works,   scattered 


232  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

abroad  in  millions  to  set  the  fashion  for  the  sheep- 
like public.  And  with  all  this  a  musician  grows  soon 
contented  with  himself,  and  comes  to  believe  any 
favourable  opinion  about  his  work.  What  a  differ- 
ence from  Beethoven,  who,  all  his  life,  was  hammer- 
ing out  the  same  subjects,  and  putting  his  melodies 
on  the  anvil  twenty  times  before  they  reached  their 
final  form.  That  is  where  Mahler  is  so  lacking.  His 
subjects  are  a  rather  vulgarised  edition  of  some  of 
Beethoven's  ideas  in  their  unfinished  state.  But 
Mahler  gets  no  further  than  the  rough  sketch. 

And,  lastly,  I  want  to  speak  of  the  greatest  danger 
of  all  that  menaces  music  in  Germany  ;  there  is  too 
much  music  in  Germany.  This  is  not  a  paradox. 
There  is  no  worse  misfortune  for  art  than  a  super- 
abundance of  it.  The  music  is  drowning  the  musi- 
cians. Festival  succeeds  festival :  the  day  after  the 
Strasburg  festival  there  was  to  be  a  Bach  festival 
at  Eisenach ;  and  then,  at  the  end  of  the  week,  a 
Beethoven  festival  at  Bonn.  Such  a  plethora  of  con- 
certs, theatres,  choral  societies,  and  chamber-music 
societies,  absorbs  the  whole  life  of  the  musician. 
When  has  he  time  to  be  alone  to  listen  to  the  music 
that  sings  within  him  ?  This  senseless  flood  of 
music  invades  the  sanctuaries  of  his  soul,  weakens 
its  power,  and  destroys  its  sacred  solitude  and  the 
treasures  of  its  thought. 

You  must  not  think  that  this  excess  of  music 
existed  in  the  old  days  in  Germany.  In  the  time 
of  the  great  classic  masters,  Germany  had  hardly 
any  institutions  for  the  giving  of  regular  concerts, 
and  choral  performances  were  hardly  known.     In 


FRENCH   AND   GERMAN   MUSIC  233 

the  Vienna  of  Mozart  and  Beethoven  there  was  only 
a  single  association  that  gave  concerts,  and  no 
Chorvereine  at  all,  and  it  was  the  same  with  other 
towns  in  Germany.  Does  the  wonderful  spread  of 
musical  culture  in  Germany  during  the  last  century 
correspond  with  its  artistic  creation  ?  I  do  not 
think  so  ;  and  one  feels  the  inequality  between  the 
two  more  every  day. 

Do  you  remember  Goethe's  ballad  of  Der  Zauher- 
lehrling  {L Apprenti  Sorcier)  which  Dukas  so  cleverly 
made  into  music  ?  There,  in  the  absence  of  his 
master,  an  apprentice  set  working  some  magic  spells, 
and  so  opened  sluice-gates  that  no  one  could  shut ; 
and  the  house  was  flooded. 

This  is  what  Germany  has  done.  She  has  let  loose 
a  flood  of  music,  and  is  about  to  be  drowned  in  it. 


CLAUDE   DEBUSSY 

PELLEAS   ET   MELISANDE 

The  first  performance  of  Pelleas  et  Melisande  in 
Paris,  on  April  30th,  1902,  was  a  very  notable  event 
in  the  history  of  French  music  ;  its  importance  can 
only  be  compared  with  that  of  the  first  performance 
of  Lully's  Cadmus  et  Hermione,  Rameau's  Hip- 
polyte  et  Aricie,  and  Gluck's  Iphigenie  en  Aulide  ;  and 
it  may  be  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  three  or  four 
red-letter  days  in  the  calendar  of  our  lyric  stage.  ^ 

The  success  of  Pelleas  et  Melisande  is  due  to  many 
things.  Some  of  them  are  trivial,  such  as  fashion, 
which  has  certainly  played  its  part  here  as  it  has  in 
all  other  successes,  though  it  is  a  relatively  weak 
part ;  some  of  them  are  more  important,  and  arise 
from  something  innate  in  the  spirit  of  French 
genius ;  and  there  are  also  moral  and  aesthetic 
reasons  for  its  success,  and,  in  the  widest  sense,  purely 
musical  reasons. 

In  speaking  of  the  m^oral  reasons  of  the  success 

1  May  I  be  allowed  to  say  that  I  am  trying  to  write  this  study 
from  a  purely  historical  point  of  view,  by  eliminating  all  personal 
feeling — which  would  be  of  no  value  here.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  am  not  a  Debussyite  ;  my  sympathies  are  with  quite  another 
kind  of  art.  But  I  feel  impelled  to  give  homage  to  a  great 
artist,  whose  work  I  am  able  to  judge  with  some  impartiality. 

234 


CLAUDE   DEBUSSY  235 

of  PelUas  et  Melisande,  I  would  like  to  draw  your 
attention  to  a  form  of  thought  which  is  not  con- 
fined to  France,  but  which  is  common  nowadays 
in  a  section  of  the  more  distinguished  members  of 
European  society,  and  which  has  found  expression 
in  PelUas  et  Melisande.  The  atmosphere  in  which 
MaeterUnck's  drama  moves  makes  one  feel  the 
melancholy  resignation  of  the  will  to  Fate.  We  are 
shown  that  nothing  can  change  the  order  of  events  ; 
that,  despite  our  proud  illusions,  we  are  not  master 
of  ourselves,  but  the  servant  of  unknown  and 
irresistible  forces,  which  direct  the  whole  tragi- 
comedy of  our  hves.  We  are  told  that  no  man  is 
responsible  for  what  he  likes  and  what  he  loves — 
that  is  if  he  knows  what  he  likes  and  loves— and 
that  he  hves  and  dies  without  knowing  why. 

These  fatalistic  ideas,  reflecting  the  lassitude  of 
the  intellectual  aristocracy  of  Europe,  have  been 
wonderfully  translated  into  music  by  Debussy ; 
and  when  you  feel  the  poetic  and  sensual  charm  of 
the  music,  the  ideas  become  fascinating  and  in- 
toxicating, and  their  spirit  is  very  infectious.  For 
there  is  in  all  music  an  hypnotic  power  which  is  able 
to  reduce  the  mind  to  a  state  of  voluptuous  sub- 
mission. 

The  cause  of  the  artistic  success  of  Pelleas  et 
Melisande  is  of  a  more  specially  French  character, 
and  marks  a  reaction  that  is  at  once  legitimate, 
natural,  and  inevitable  ;  I  would  even  say  it  is 
vital — a  reaction  of  French  genius  against  foreign 
art,  and  especially  against  Wagnerian  art  and  its 
awkward  representatives  in  France. 


236  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Is  the  Wagnerian  drama  perfectly  adapted  to 
German  genius  ?  I  do  not  think  so  ;  but  that  is 
a  question  which  I  will  leave  German  musicians  to 
decide.  For  ourselves,  we  have  the  right  to  assert 
that  the  form  of  Wagnerian  drama  is  antipathetic 
to  the  spirit  of  French  people — to  their  artistic 
taste,  to  their  ideas  about  the  theatre,  and  to  their 
musical  feeling.  This  form  may  have  forced  itself 
upon  us,  and,  by  the  right  of  victorious  genius,  may 
have  strongly  influenced  the  French  mind,  and  may 
do  so  again  ;  but  nothing  will  ever  make  it  anything 
but  a  stranger  in  our  land. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  dwell  upon  the  differences  of 
taste.  The  Wagnerian  ideal  is,  before  everything 
else,  an  ideal  of  power.  Wagner's  passional  and 
intellectual  exaltation  and  his  mystic  sensualism 
are  poured  out  like  a  fiery  torrent,  which  sweeps 
away  and  burns  all  before  it,  taking  no  heed  of 
barriers.  Such  an  art  cannot  be  bound  by  ordinary 
rules  ;  it  has  no  need  to  fear  bad  taste — and  I  com- 
mend it.  But  it  is  easy  to  understand  that  other 
ideals  exist,  and  that  another  art  might  be  as  ex- 
pressive by  its  proprieties  and  niceties  as  by  its  rich- 
ness and  force.  And  this  former  art — our  own — is 
not  so  much  a  reaction  against  Wagnerian  art  as  a 
reaction  against  its  caricatures  in  France  and  the 
consequent  abuse  of  an  ill-regulated  power. 

Genius  has  a  right  to  be  what  it  will — to  trample 
underfoot,  if  it  wishes,  taste  and  morals  and  the 
whole  of  society.  But  when  those  w^ho  are  not 
geniuses  wish  to  do  the  same  thing  they  only  make 
themselves  ridiculous  and  odious.    There  have  been 


CLAUDE    DEBUSSY  237 

too  many  monkey  Wagners  in  France.  During  the 
last  ten  or  twenty  years  scarcely  one  French  musician 
has  escaped  Wagner's  influence.  One  understands 
only  too  well  the  revolt  of  the  French  mind,  in  the 
name  of  naturalness  and  good  taste,  against  exag- 
gerations and  extremes  of  passion,  whether  sincere 
or  not.  Pelleas  et  Melisande  came  as  a  mani- 
festation of  this  revolt.  It  is  an  uncompromising 
reaction  against  over-emphasis  and  excess,  and 
against  anything  that  oversteps  the  limits  of  the 
imagination.  This  distaste  of  exaggerated  words 
and  sentiments  results  in  what  is  like  a  fear  of 
showing  the  feelings  at  all,  even  when  they  are  most 
deeply  stirred.  With  Debussy  the  passions  almost 
whisper ;  and  it  is  by  the  imperceptible  vibrations 
of  the  melodic  line  that  the  love  in  the  hearts  of  the 
unhappy  couple  is  shown,  by  the  timid  "  Oh,  why 
are  you  going  ?  "  at  the  end  of  the  first  act,  and  the 
quiet  "  I  love  you,  too,"  in  the  last  scene  but  one. 
Think  of  the  wild  lamentations  of  the  dying  Ysolde, 
and  then  of  the  death  of  Melisande,  without  cries 
and  without  words. 

From  a  scenic  point  of  view,  Pelleas  et  Melisande 
is  also  quite  opposed  to  the  Bayreuth  ideal.  The 
vast  proportions — almost  immoderate  proportions — 
of  the  Wagnerian  drama,  its  compact  structure  and 
the  intense  concentration  of  mind  which  from  be- 
ginning to  end  holds  these  enormous  works  and 
their  ideology  together,  and  which  is  often  displayed 
at  the  expense  of  the  action  and  even  the  emotions, 
are  as  far  removed  as  they  can  be  from  the  French 
love  of  clear,  logical,  and  temperate  action.     The 


238  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

little  pictures  of  Pelleas  et  Melisande,  small  and 
sharply  cut,  each  marking  without  stress  a  new 
stage  in  the  evolution  of  the  drama,  are  built  up  in 
quite  a  different  way  from  those  of  the  Wagnerian 
theatre. 

And,  as  if  he  wished  to  accentuate  this  antagonism, 
the  author  of  Pelleas  et  Melisande  is  now  writing  a 
Tristan,  whose  plot  is  taken  from  an  old  French 
poem,  the  text  of  which  has  been  recently  brought 
to  light  by  M.  Bedier.  In  its  calm  and  lofty  strain 
it  is  a  wonderful  contrast  to  Wagner's  savage  and 
pedantic,  though  sublime  poem. 

But  it  is  especially  by  the  manner  in  which  they 
conceive  the  respective  relationships  of  poetry  and 
music  to  opera  that  the  two  composers  differ.  With 
Wagner,  music  is  the  kernel  of  the  opera,  the  glowing 
focus,  the  centre  of  attraction  ;  it  absorbs  every- 
thing, and  it  stands  absolutely  first.  But  that  is  not 
the  French  conception.  The  musical  stage,  as  we 
conceive  it  in  France  (if  not  what  we  actually  pos- 
sess), should  present  such  a  combination  of  the  arts 
as  go  to  make  an  harmonious  whole.  We  demand 
that  an  equal  balance  shall  be  kept  between  poetry 
and  music  ;  and  if  their  equilibrium  must  be  a  little 
upset,  we  should  prefer  that  poetry  was  not  the 
loser,  as  its  utterance  is  more  conscious  and  rational. 
That  was  Gluck's  aim  ;  and  because  he  realised  it 
so  well  he  gained  a  reputation  among  the  French 
public  which  nothing  will  destroy.  Debussy's 
strength  lies  in  the  methods  by  which  he  has  ap- 
proached this  ideal  of  musical  temperateness  and 
disinterestedness,  and  in  the  way  he  has  placed  his 


CLAUDE    DEBUSSY  239 

genius  as  a  composer  at  the  service  of  the  drama. 
He  has  never  sought  to  dominate  Maeterhnck's 
poem,  or  to  swallow  it  up  in  a  torrent  of  music  ;  he 
has  made  it  so  much  a  part  of  himself  that  at  the 
present  time  no  Frenchman  is  able  to  think  of  a 
passage  in  the  play  without  Debussy's  music  singing 
at  the  same  time  within  him. 

But  apart  from  all  these  reasons  that  make  the 
work  important  in  the  history  of  opera,  there  are 
purely  musical  reasons  for  its  success,  which  are  of 
deeper  significance  still. ^  Pelleas  et  Melisande  has 
brought  about  a  reform  in  the  dramatic  music  of 
France.  This  reform  is  concerned  with  several 
things,  and,  first  of  all,  with  recitative. 

In  France  we  have  never  had — apart  from  a  few 
attempts  in  opera-comique — a  recitative  that  exactly 
expressed  our  natural  speech.  Lully  and  Rameau 
took  for  their  model  the  high-flown  declamation 
of  the  tragedy  stage  of  their  time.  And  French 
opera  for  the  past  twenty  years  has  chosen  a  more 
dangerous  model  still — the  declamation  of  Wagner, 
with  its  vocal  leaps  and  its  resounding  and  heavy 
accentuation.  Nothing  could  be  more  displeasing 
in  French.  All  people  of  taste  suffered  from  it, 
though  they  did  not  admit  it.  At  this  time,  Antoine, 
Gemier,  and  Guitry  were  making  theatrical  de- 
clamation more  natural,  and  this  made  the  exag- 
gerated declamation  of  the  French  opera  appear 
more  ridiculous  and  more  archaic  still.     And  so  a 


1  That  is  for  musicians.  But  I  am  convinced  that  with  the 
mass  of  the  pubUc  the  other  reasons  have  rnore  weight — as  ig 
ftlways  the  ca.se, 


240  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

reform  in  recitative  was  inevitable.  Jean-Jacques 
Rousseau  had  foreseen  it  in  the  very  direction  in 
which  Debussy  1  has  accomphshed  it.  He  showed  in 
his  Lettre  sur  la  musique  frangaise  that  there  was  no 
connection  between  the  inflections  of  French  speech, 
*'  whose  accents  are  so  harmonious  and  simple,"  and 
'*the  shrill  and  noisy  intonations"  of  the  recitative 
of  French  opera.  And  he  concluded  by  saying  that 
the  kind  of  recitative  that  would  best  suit  us  should 
"  wander  between  little  intervals,  and  neither  raise 
nor  lower  the  voice  very  much  ;  and  should  have 
little  sustained  sound,  no  noise,  and  no  cries  of  any 
description — nothing,  indeed,  that  resembled  sing- 
ing, and  little  inequality  in  the  duration  or  value  of 
the  notes,  or  in  their  intervals."  This  is  the  very 
definition  of  Debussy's  recitative. 

The  symphonic  fabric  of  Pelleas  et  Melisande 
differs  just  as  widely  from  Wagner's  dramas.  With 
Wagner  it  is  a  living  thing  that  springs  from  one 
great  root,  a  system  of  interlaced  phrases  whose 
powerful  growth  puts  out  branches  in  every  direc- 
tion, like  an  oak.  Or,  to  take  another  simile,  it  is 
like  a  painting,  which  though  it  has  not  been  exe- 
cuted at  a  single  sitting,  yet  gives  us  that  impression ; 
and,  in  spite  of  the  retouching  and  altering  to  which 
it  has  been  subjected,  still  has  the  effect  of  a  com- 
pact  whole,   of   an  indestructible  amalgam,   from 

^  We  must  also  note  that  during  the  first  half  of  the  seven- 
teenth century  people  of  taste  objected  to  the  very  theatrical 
declamation  of  French  opera.  "  Our  singers  believe,"  wrote 
Mersenne,  in  1636,  "  that  the  exclamations  and  emphasis  used 
by  the  Italians  in  singing  savour  too  much  of  tragedies  and 
comedies,  and  so  they  do  not  wish  to  employ  them." 


CLAUDE    DEBUSSY 


241 


which  nothing  can  be  detached.  Debussy's  system, 
on  the  contrary,  is,  so  to  speak,  a  sort  of  classic 
impressionism— an  impressionism  that  is  refined, 
harmonious,  and  calm  ;  that  moves  along  in  musical 
pictures,  each  of  which  corresponds  to  a  subtle  and 
fleeting  moment  of  the  soul's  life  ;  and  the  painting 
is  done  by  clever  little  strokes  put  in  with  a  soft  and 
delicate  touch.  This  art  is  more  allied  to  that  of 
Moussorgski  (though  without  any  of  his  roughness) 
than  that  of  Wagner,  in  spite  of  one  or  two  reminis- 
cences of  Parsifal,  which  are  only  extraneous  traits 
in  the  work.  In  PelUas  et  Melisande  one  finds  no 
persistent  leitmotifs  running  through  the  work,  or 
themes  which  pretend  to  translate  into  music  the 
hfe  of  characters  and  types  ;  but,  instead,  we  have 
phrases  that  express  changing  feelings,  that  change 
with  the  feelings.  More  than  that,  Debussy's 
harmony  is  not,  as  it  was  with  Wagner  and  all  the 
German  school,  a  fettered  harmony,  tightly  bound 
to  the  despotic  laws  of  counterpoint ;  it  is,  as 
Laloyi  has  said,  a  harmony  that  is  first  of  all  har- 
monious, and  has  its  origin  and  end  in  itself. 

As  Debussy's  art  only  attempts  to  give  the  im- 
pression of  the  moment,  without  troubling  itself  with 
what  may  come  after,  it  is  free  from  care,  and  takes 
its  fill  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  moment.  In  the 
garden  of  harmonies  it  selects  the  most  beautiful 
flowers  ;  for  sincerity  of  expression  takes  a  second 

*  No  other  critic  has,  I  think,  discerned  so  shrewdly  Debussy's 
art  and  genius.  Some  of  his  analyses  are  models  of  clever 
intuition.  The  thought  of  the  critic  seems  to  be  one  with  that 
of  the  musician. 


242  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

place  with  it,  and  its  first  idea  is  to  please.  In  this 
again  it  interprets  the  aesthetic  sensualism  of  the 
French  race,  which  seeks  pleasure  in  art,  and  does 
not  willingly  admit  ugliness,  even  when  it  seems 
to  be  justified  by  the  needs  of  the  drama  and  of 
truth.  Mozart  shared  the  same  thought :  "  Music," 
he  said,  "  even  in  the  most  terrible  situations, 
ought  never  to  offend  the  ear  ;  it  should  charm  it 
even  there;  and,  in  short,  always  remain  music." 

As  for  Debussy's  harmonic  language,  his 
originality  does  not  consist,  as  some  of  his  foolish 
admirers  have  said,  in  the  invention  of  new  chords, 
but  in  the  new  use  he  makes  of  them.  A  man  is  not 
a  great  artist  because  he  makes  use  of  unresolved 
sevenths  and  ninths,  consecutive  major  thirds  and 
ninths,  and  harmonic  progressions  based  on  a  scale 
of  whole  tones  ;  one  is  only  an  artist  when  one 
makes  them  say  something.  And  it  is  not  on 
account  of  the  peculiarities  of  Debussy's  style — of 
which  one  may  find  isolated  examples  in  great  com- 
posers before  him,  in  Chopin,  Liszt,  Chabrier,  and 
Richard  Strauss — but  because  with  Debussy  these 
peculiarities  are  an  expression  of  his  personality, 
and  because  Pelleas  et  Melisande,  "  the  land  of 
ninths,"  has  a  poetic  atmosphere  which  is  Hke  no 
other  musical  drama  ever  written. 

Lastly,  the  orchestration  is  purposely  restrained, 
light,  and  divided,  for  Debussy  has  a  fine  disdain  for 
those  orgies  of  sound  to  which  Wagner's  art  has 
accustomed  us ;  it  is  as  sober  and  polished  as  a  fine 
classic  phrase  of  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth 
century.     Ne  quid  nimis  ("  Nothing  superfluous  ") 


CLAUDE    DEBUSSY  243 

is  the  artist's  motto.  Instead  of  amalgamating  the 
timbres  to  get  a  massive  effect,  he  disengages  their 
separate  personahties,  as  it  were,  and  dehcately 
blends  them  without  changing  their  individual 
nature.  Like  the  impressionist  painters  of  to-day, 
he  paints  with  primary  colours,  but  with  a  delicate 
moderation  that  rejects  anything  harsh  as  if  it  were 
something  unseemly. 


I  have  given  more  than  enough  reasons  to  ac- 
count for  the  success  of  Pelleas  et  Melisande  and  the 
place  that  its  admirers  give  it  in  the  history  of  opera. 
There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  composer 
has  not  been  as  acutely  conscious  of  his  musico- 
dramatic  reform  as  his  disciples  have  been.  The 
reform  with  him  has  a  more  instinctive  character ; 
and  that  is  what  gives  it  its  strength.  It  responds 
to  an  unconscious  yet  profound  need  of  the  French 
spirit.  I  would  even  venture  to  say  that  the  histori- 
cal importance  of  Debussy's  work  is  greater  than  its 
artistic  value.  His  personality  is  not  without  faults, 
and  the  gravest  are  perhaps  negative  faults — the 
absence  of  certain  qualities,  and  even  of  the  strong 
and  extravagant  faults  which  made  the  heroes  of  the 
art  world,  like  Beethoven  and  Wagner.  His  volup- 
tuous nature  is  at  once  changeable  and  precise  ;  and 
his  dreams  are  as  clear  and  delicate  as  the  art  of  a 
poet  of  the  Pleiades  in  the  sixteenth  century,  or  of 
a  Japanese  painter.  But  among  all  his  gifts  he  has 
a  quality  which  I  have  not  found  so  evident  in  any 
other  musician — except  perhaps  Mozart;  and  this 


244  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

quality  is  a  genius  for  good  taste.  Debussy  has  it  in 
excess,  so  that  he  almost  sacrifices  the  other  elements 
of  art  to  it,  until  the  passionate  force  of  his  music, 
even  its  very  life,  seems  to  be  impoverished.  But 
one  must  not  deceive  oneself ;  that  impoverishment 
is  only  apparent,  and  in  all  his  work  there  are  evi- 
dences that  his  passion  is  only  veiled.  It  is  only  the 
trembling  of  the  melodic  line,  or  the  orchestration 
which,  like  a  shadow  passing  before  the  eyes,  tells 
us  of  the  drama  that  is  being  played  in  the  hearts 
of  his  characters.  This  lofty  shame  of  emotion  is 
something  as  rare  in  opera  as  a  Racine  tragedy  is 
in  poetry — they  are  works  of  the  same  order,  and 
both  of  them  perfect  flowers  of  the  French  spirit. 
Anyone  who  lives  in  foreign  parts  and  is  curious 
to  know  what  France  is  like  and  understand  her 
genius  should  study  Pclleas  ct  Melisande  as  they 
would  study  Racine's  Berenice. 

Not  that  Debussy's  art  entirely  represents  French 
genius  any  more  than  Racine's  does  ;  for  there  is 
quite  another  side  to  it  which  is  not  represented 
there  ;  and  that  side  is  heroic  action,  the  intoxica- 
tion of  reason  and  laughter,  the  passion  for  light, 
the  France  of  Rabelais,  Moliere,  Diderot,  and  in 
music,  we  will  say — for  want  of  better  names — the 
France  of  Berlioz  and  Bizet.  To  tell  the  truth,  that 
is  the  France  I  prefer.  But  Heaven  preserve  me 
from  ignoring  the  other  !  It  is  the  balance  between 
these  two  Frances  that  makes  French  genius.  In 
our  contemporary  music,  Pelleas  et  Melisande  is  at 
one  end  of  the  pole  of  our  art  and  Carmen  is  at  the 
other.    The  one  is  all  on  the  surface,  all  life,  with  no 


CLAUDE   DEBUSSY  245 

shadows,  and  no  underneath.  The  other  is  below 
the  surface,  bathed  in  twihght,  and  enveloped  in 
silence.  And  this  double  ideal  is  the  alternation 
between  the  gentle  sunlight  and  the  faint  mist  that 
veils  the  soft,  luminous  sky  of  the  Isle  of  France. 


IhJ-f  ^Af^si= 

-p — ^^ — T"^''* — ^-r**  ^  M<»'-i  _>_  r  j_ 

g^     1      ' — ^ 

Fin        . 

J    1      Ui^     '           ' 

.  n  »                                                                                                                          -"^  — - 

w^  rrf '  r  gir 

-r  r  *  , ir^~i 

-5— P— »dr;p-f— i^ 

ap     -     pa  -   ru  - 

e      -      -      runt      in 

ter-ra    no       -       -       • 

stra 

_•_, — « — S—  ^:_|j 

THE   AWAKENING 


A    SKETCH    OF    THE    MUSICAL    MOVEMENT    IN    PARIS 
SINCE    1870 

It  is  not  possible  in  a  few  pages  to  give  an  account 
of  forty  years  of  active  and  fruitful  life  without 
many  omissions,  and  also  without  a  certain  dryness 
entailed  by  lists  of  names.  But  I  have  purposely 
abstained  from  trying  to  arouse  interest  by  any 
artifices  of  writing  and  treatment,  as  I  wish  to  let 
deeds  speak  for  themselves. 

I  want  to  show,  by  this  simple  account,  the 
splendid  efforts  made  by  musicians  in  France  since 
1870,  and  the  growth  of  the  faith  and  energy  that 
has  recreated  French  music.  Such  an  awakening 
seems  to  me  a  fine  thing  to  look  upon,  and  very 
comforting.  But  few  people  in  France  realise  it, 
outside  a  handful  of  musicians.  It  is  to  the  public 
at  large  I  dedicate  these  pages,  so  that  they  may 
know  what  a  generation  of  artists  with  large  hearts 

246 


The  awakening  ^47 

and  strong  determination  have  done  for  the  honour 
of  our  race.  The  nation  must  not  be  allowed  to 
forget  what  she  owes  to  some  of  her  sons. 

But  you  must  not  accuse  me  of  contradicting 
myself  if  in  another  work,  which  will  appear  at  the 
same  time  as  this  one,^  I  indulge  in  some  sarcasm 
over  the  failings  and  absurdities  of  French  music 
to-day.  I  think  that  for  the  last  ten  years  French 
musicians  have  rather  imprudently  and  prema- 
turely proclaimed  their  victory,  and  that,  in  a 
general  way,  their  works — apart  from  three  or  four 
— are  not  worth  as  much  as  their  endeavours.  But 
their  endeavours  are  heroic  ;  and  I  know  nothing 
liner  in  the  whole  history  of  France.  May  they 
continue  1  But  that  is  only  possible  by  practising 
a  virtue — modesty.  The  completion  of  a  part  is 
not  the  completion  of  the  whole. 

PARIS   AND   MUSIC 

The  nature  of  Paris  is  so  complex  and  unstable 
that  one  feels  it  is  presumptuous  to  try  to  define  it. 
It  is  a  city  so  highly-strung,  so  ingrained  with 
fickleness,  and  so  changeable  in  its  tastes,  that  a 
book  that  truly  describes  it  at  the  moment  it  is 
written  is  no  longer  accurate  by  the  time  it  is 
published.  And  then,  there  is  not  only  one  Paris  ; 
there  are  two  or  three  Parises — fashionable  Paris, 
middle-class  Paris,  intellectual  Paris,  vulgar  Paris — 
all  living  side  by  side,  but  intermingling  very  little. 
If  you  do  not  know  the  little  towns  within  the  great 

^  J ean-Christophe  a  Paris,  1904. 


248  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Town,  you  cannot  know  the  strong  and  often  incon- 
sistent life  of  this  great  organism  as  a  whole. 

If  one  wishes  to  get  an  idea  of  the  musical  life 
of  Paris,  one  must  take  into  account  the  variety  of 
its  centres  and  the  perpetual  flow  of  its  thought — 
a  thought  which  never  stops,  but  is  always  over- 
shooting the  goal  for  which  it  seemed  bound.  This 
incessant  change  of  opinion  is  scornfully  called 
"  fashion  "  by  the  foreigner.  And  there  is,  without 
doubt,  in  the  artistic  aristocracy  of  Paris,  as  in  all 
great  towns,  a  herd  of  idle  people  on  the  watch  for 
new  fashions — in  art,  as  well  as  in  dress — who  wish 
to  single  out  certain  of  them  for  no  serious  reason 
at  all.  But,  in  spite  of  their  pretensions,  they  have 
only  an  infinitesimal  share  in  the  changes  of  artistic 
taste.  The  origin  of  these  changes  is  in  the  Parisian 
brain  itself — a  brain  that  is  quick  and  feverish, 
always  working,  greedy  of  knowledge,  easily  tired, 
grasping  to-day  the  splendours  of  a  work,  seeing 
to-morrow  its  defects,  building  up  reputations  as 
rapidly  as  it  pulls  them  down,  and  yet,  in  spite  of 
all  its  apparent  caprices,  always  logical  and  sincere. 
It  has  its  momentary  infatuations  and  dislikes,  but 
no  lasting  prejudices  ;  and,  by  its  curiosity,  its 
absolute  liberty,  and  its  very  French  habit  of 
criticising  everything,  it  is  a  marvellous  barometer, 
sensitive  to  all  the  hidden  currents  of  thought  in  the 
soul  of  the  West,  and  often  indicating,  months  in 
advance,  the  variations  and  disturbances  of  the 
artistic  and  political  world. 

And  this  barometer  is  registering  what  is  happen- 
ing just  now  in  the  world  of  music,  where  a  move- 


THE   AWAKENING  249 

ment  has  been  making  itself  felt  in  France  for  several 
years,  whose  effect  other  nations — perhaps  more 
musical  nations — will  not  feel  till  later.  For  the 
nations  that  have  the  strongest  artistic  traditions 
are  not  necessarily  those  that  are  likely  to  develop 
a  new  art.  To  do  that  one  must  have  a  virgin  soil 
and  spirits  untrammelled  by  a  heritage  from  the 
past.  In  1870  no  one  had  a  lighter  heritage  to 
bear  than  French  musicians  ;  for  the  past  had  been 
forgotten,  and  such  a  thing  as  real  musical  education 
did  not  exist. 

The  musical  weakness  of  that  time  was  a  very 
curious  thing,  and  has  given  many  people  the  im- 
pression that  France  has  never  been  a  musical 
nation.  Historically  speaking,  nothing  could  be 
more  wrong.  Certainly  there  are  races  more  gifted 
in  music  than  others ;  but  often  the  seeming 
differences  of  race  are  really  the  differences  of  time  ; 
and  a  nation  appears  great  or  little  in  its  art  accord- 
ing to  what  period  of  its  history  we  consider,  Eng- 
land was  a  musical  nation  until  the  Revolution  of 
1688  ;  France  was  the  greatest  musical  nation  in 
the  sixteenth  century  ;  and  the  recent  pubhcations 
of  M.  Henry  Expert  have  given  us  a  glimpse  of  the 
originality  and  perfection  of  the  Franco-Belgian  art 
during  the  Renaissance.  But  without  going  back 
as  far  as  that,  we  find  that  Paris  was  a  very  musical 
town  at  the  time  of  the  Restoration,  at  the  time  of 
the  first  performance  of  Beethoven's  symphonies 
at  the  Conservatoire,  and  the  first  great  works  of 
Berlioz,  and  the  ItaUan  Opera.  In  BerUoz's  Me- 
moircs  you  can  read  about  the  enthusiasm,  the  tears, 


250  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

and  the  feeling,  that  the  performances  of  Gluck's 
and  Spontini's  operas  aroused  ;  and  in  the  same 
book  one  sees  clearly  that  this  musical  warmth 
lasted  until  1840,  after  which  it  died  down  little  by 
Httle,  and  was  succeeded  by  complete  musical 
apathy  in  the  second  Empire — an  apathy  from  which 
Berlioz  suffered  cruelly,  so  that  one  may  even  say 
he  died  crushed  by  the  indifference  of  the  public. 
At  this  time  Meyerbeer  was  reigning  at  the  Opera. 
This  incredible  weakening  of  musical  feeling  in 
France,  from  1840  to  1870,  is  nowhere  better  show^n 
than  in  its  romantic  and  realistic  writers,  for  whom 
music  was  an  hermetically  sealed  door.  All  these 
artists  w^ere  "  visnels,"  for  whom  music  was  only  a 
noise.  Hugo  is  supposed  to  have  said  that  Ger- 
many's inferiority  was  measured  by  its  superiority 
in  music. ^  "The  elder  Dumas  detested,"  Berlioz 
says,  "  even  bad  music. "^  The  journal  of  the 
Goncourts  calmly  reflects  the  almost  universal 
scorn  of  literary  men  for  music.  In  a  conversation 
which  took  place  in  1862  between  Goncourt  and 
Theophile  Gautier,  Goncourt  said  : 

"  We  confessed  to  him  our  complete  infirmity, 
our  musical  deafness — we  who,  at  the  most,  only 
liked  military  music." 

1  One  must  at  least  do  Hugo  the  justice  of  sa)-ing  that  he 
always  spoke  of  Beethoven  with  admiration,  although  he  did 
not  know  him.  But  he  rather  exalts  liim  in  order  to  take  away 
from  the  importance  of  a  poet — the  only  one  in  the  nineteenth 
century — whose  fame  was  shading  his  own  ;  and  when  he  wrote 
in  his  William  Shakespeare  that  "  the  great  man  of  Germany  is 
Beethoven  "  it  was  understood  by  all  to  mean  "  the  great  man 
of  Germany  is  not  Goethe." 

2  Written  in  a  letter  to  his  sister,  Xanci,  on  3  April,  1850. 


'      THE   AWAKENING  25I 

"  Well,"  said  Gautier, "  what  you  tell  me  pleases  me 
very  much.  I  am  like  you  ;  I  prefer  silence  to  music. 
I  have  only  just  succeeded,  after  having  lived  part 
of  my  hfe  with  a  singer,  in  being  able  to  tell  good 
music  from  bad  ;   but  it  is  all  the  same  to  me."^ 

And  he  added  : 

"  But  it  is  a  very  curious  thing  that  all  other 
writers  of  our  time  are  like  this.  Balzac  hated  music. 
Hugo  could  not  stand  it.  Even  Lamartine,  who 
himself  is  like  a  piano  to  be  hired  or  sold,  holds  it  in 
horror !  " 

It  needed  a  compl@-te  upheaval  of  the  nation — a 
political  and  moral  upheaval — to  change  that 
frame  of  mind.  Some  indication  of  the  change  was 
making  itself  felt  in  the  last  years  of  the  second 
Empire.  Wagner,  who  suffered  from  the  hostility 
or  indifference  of  the  public  in  i860,  at  the  time 
when  Tannhduser  was  performed  at  the  Opera,  had 
already  found,  however,  a  few  understanding  people 
in  Paris  who  discerned  his  genius  and  sincerely  ad- 
mired him.  The  most  interesting  of  the  writers  who 
first  began  to  understand  musical  emotion  is  Charles 
Baudelaire.  In  1861,  Pasdeloup  gave  the  first  Con- 
certs populaires  de  musique  classique  at  the  Cirque 
d'Hiver.  The  Berlioz  Festival,  organised  by  M. 
Reyer,  on  March  23rd,  1870,  a  year  after  Berlioz's 
death,  revealed  to  France  the  grandeur  of  its  greatest 
musical  genius,  and  was  the  beginning  of  a  campaign 
of  public  reparation  to  his  memory. 

The  disasters  of  the  war  in  1870  regenerated  the 

^  We  remark,  nevertheless,  that  that  did  not  prevent  Gautiei 
from  being  a  musical  critic. 


252  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

nation's  artistic  spirit.  Music  felt  its  effect  im- 
mediately.  ^  On  February  24th,  1871,  the  Societe 
nationale  de  Musique  was  instituted  to  propagate  the 
works  of  French  composers  ;  and  in  1S73  the  Con- 
certs de  r Association  artistique  were  started  under 
M.  Colonne's  direction  ;  and  these  concerts,  besides 
making  people  acquainted  with  the  classic  com- 
posers of  symphonies  and  the  masters  of  the  young 
French  school,  were  especially  devoted  to  the 
honouring  of  Berlioz,  whose  triumph  reached  its 
summit  about  1880.2  At  this  time  Wagner's  success, 
in  its  turn,  began  to  make  itself  felt.  For  this  M. 
Lamoureux,  whose  concerts  began  in  1882,  was 
chiefly  responsible.  Wagner's  influence  consider- 
ably helped  forward  the  progress  of  French  art,  and 
aroused  a  love  for  music  in  people  other  than 
musicians  ;  and,  by  his  all-embracing  personality 
and  the  vast  domain  of  his  work  in  art,  not  only 
engaged  the  interest  of  the  musical  world,  but  that  of 

1  I  wish  to  make  known  from  the  beginning  that  I  am  only 
noticing  here  the  greater  musical  doings  of  the  nation,  and 
making  no  mention  of  works  which  have  not  had  an  important 
influence  on  this  movement. 

2  In  the  meanwhile  France  saw  the  brilliant  rise  and  extinction 
of  a  great  artist — the  most  spontaneous  of  all  her  musicians — 
Georges  Bizet,  who  died  in  1875,  aged  thirty-seven.  "  Bizet  was 
the  last  genius  to  discover  a  new  beauty,"  said  Nietzsche  ; 
"  Bizet  discovered  new  lands — the  Southern  lands  of  music." 
Carmen  (1S75)  and  L'Arlesienne  (1872)  are  masterpieces  of  the 
lyrical  Latin  drama.  Their  style  is  luminous,  concise,  and  well- 
defined  ;  the  figures  are  outlined  with  incisive  precision.  The 
muilc  is  full  of  light  and  movement,  and  is  a  great  contrast  to 
Wagner's  philosophical  symphonies,  and  its  popular  subject 
only  serves  to  strengthen  its  aristocratic  distinction.  By  its 
nature  and  its  clear  perception  of  the  spirit  of  the  race  it  was 
well  in  advance  of  its  time.  What  a  place  Bizet  might  have 
taken  in  our  art  if  he  had  only  lived  twenty  years  longer  1 


THE   AWAKENING  253 

the  theatrical  world,  and  the  world  of  poetry  and  the 
plastic  arts.  One  may  say  that  from  1885  Wagner's 
work  acted  directly  or  indirectly  on  the  whole  of 
artistic  thought,  even  on  the  religious  and  intellectual 
thought  of  the  most  distinguished  people  in  Paris. 
And  a  curious  historical  witness  of  its  world-wide 
influence  and  momentary  supremacy  over  all  other 
arts  was  the  founding  of  the  Revue  Wagnerienne, 
where,  united  by  the  same  artistic  devotion,  were 
found  writers  and  poets  such  as  Verlaine,  Mal- 
larme,  Swinburne,  Villiers  de  I'lsle  Adam,  Huys- 
mans,  Richepin,  Catulle  Mendes,  fidouard  Rod, 
Stuart  Merrill,  Ephraim  Mikhael,  etc.,  and  painters 
like  Fantin-Latour,  Jacques  Blanche,  Odilon  Redon  ; 
and  critics  like  Teodor  de  Wyzewa,  H.  S.  Chamber- 
lain, Hennequin,  Camille  Benoit,  A.  Ernst,  de  Four- 
caud.  Wilder,  E.  Schure,  Soubies,  Malherbe,  Gabriel 
Mourey,  etc.  These  writers  not  only  discussed  musi- 
cal subjects,  but  judged  painting,  literature,  and 
philosophy,  from  a  Wagnerian  point  of  view.  Henne- 
quin compared  the  philosophic  systems  of  Herbert 
Spencer  and  Wagner.  Teodor  de  Wyzewa  made 
a  study  of  Wagnerian  literature — not  the  literature 
that  commentated  and  the  paintings  that  illustrated 
Wagner's  works,  but  the  literature  and  the  painting 
that  were  inspired  by  Wagner's  principles — from 
Egyptian  statuary  to  Degas's  paintings,  from 
Homer's  writings  to  those  of  Villiers  de  I'lsle 
Adam  !  In  a  word,  the  whole  universe  was  seen  and 
judged  by  the  thought  of  Bayreuth.  And  though 
this  folly  scarcely  lasted  more  than  three  or  four 
years — the  length  of  the  life  of  that  little  magazine 


254  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

— Wagner's  genius  dominated  nearly  the  whole  of 
French  art  for  ten  or  twelve  years.  ^  An  ardent 
musical  propaganda  by  means  of  concerts  was 
carried  on  among  the  public  ;  and  the  young  in- 
tellectuals of  the  day  were  won  over.  But  the  finest 
service  that  Wagnerism  rendered  to  French  art  was 
that  it  interested  the  general  public  in  music  ;  al- 
though the  tyranny  its  influence  exercised  became, 
in  time,  very  stifling. 

Then,  in  1890,  there  were  signs  of  a  movement 
that  was  in  revolt  against  its  despotism.  The  great 
wind  from  the  East  began  to  drop,  and  veered  to 
the  North.  Scandinavian  and  Russian  influences 
were  making  themselves  felt.  An  exaggerated  in- 
fatuation for  Grieg,  though  limited  to  a  small  num- 
ber of  people,  was  an  indication  of  the  change  in 
pubhc  taste.  In  1890,  Cesar  Franck  died  in  Paris. 
Belgian  by  birth  and  temperament,  and  French  in 
feeling  and  by  musical  education,  he  had  remained 
outside  the  Wagnerian  movement  in  his  own  serene 
and  fecund  solitude.  To  his  intellectual  greatness 
and  the  charm  his  personal  genius  held  for  the  little 
band  of  friends  who  knew  and  revered  him  he  added 
the  authority  of  his  knowledge.  Unconsciously  he 
brought  back  to  us  the  soul  of  Sebastian  Bach, 
with  its  infinite  richness  and  depth  ;  and  through 
this  he  found  himself  the  head  of  a  school  (without 
having  wished  it)  and  the  greatest  teacher  of  con- 
temporary  French   music.      After   his   death,    his 

^  Its  influence  is  shown,  in  varying  degrees,  in  works  such  as 
M.  Reyer's  Sigurd  (1884),  Chabrier's  Gwendoline  (1886),  and  M, 
Vincent  d'Indy's  Le  Chant  de  la  Cloche  (1886). 


THE   AWAKENING  255 

name  was  the  means  of  rallying  together  the 
younger  school  of  musicians.  In  1892,  the  Chan- 
teurs  de  Saint-Geroais,  under  the  direction  of  M. 
Charles  Bordes,  reinstated  to  honour  and  popu- 
larised Gregorian  and  Palestrinian  music ;  and, 
following  the  initiative  of  their  director,  the  Schola 
Cantonmi  was  founded  in  1894  for  the  revival  of 
religious  music.  Ambition  grew  with  success  ;  and 
from  the  Schola  sprang  the  Ecole  Superieure  de 
Miisiqite,  under  the  direction  of  Franck's  most 
famous  pupil,  M.  Vincent  d'Indy.  This  school, 
founded  on  a  solid  knowledge,  not  only  of  the 
classics,  but  of  the  primitives  in  music,  took  from 
its  very  beginning  in  1900  a  frankly  national 
character,  and  was  in  some  ways  opposed  to  German 
art.  At  the  same  time,  performances  of  Bach  and 
seventeenth-  and  eighteenth-century  music  became 
more  and  more  frequent ;  and  more  intimate  re- 
lationship with  the  artists  of  other  countries,  repeated 
visits  of  the  great  Kapellmeister,  foreign  virtuosi  and 
composers  (especially  Richard  Strauss),  and,  lastly, 
of  Russian  composers,  completed  the  education  of 
the  Parisian  musical  public,  who,  after  repeated 
rebukes  from  the  critics,  became  conscious  of  the 
awakening  of  a  national  personality,  and  of  an  im- 
patient desire  to  free  itself  from  German  tutelage. 
By  turns  it  gratefully  and  warmly  received  M. 
Bruneau's  Le  Reve  (1S91),  M,  d'lndy's  Fervaal 
(1898),  M.  Gustave  Charpentier's  Louise  (1900) — 
all  of  which  seemed  like  works  of  liberation.  But, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  these  lyric  dramas  were  by  no 
means  free  from  foreign  influences,  and  especially 


256  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

from  Wagnerian  influences.  M.  Debussy's  Pelleas 
et  Melisande,  in  1902,  seemed  to  mark  more  truly 
the  emancipation  of  French  music.  From  this  time 
on,  French  music  felt  that  it  had  left  school,  and 
claimed  to  have  founded  a  new  art,  which  reflected 
the  spirit  of  the  race,  and  was  freer  and  suppler  than 
the  Wagnerian  art.  These  ideas,  which  were  seized 
upon  and  enlarged  by  the  press,  brought  about 
rather  quickly  a  conviction  in  French  artists  of 
France's  superiority  in  music.  Is  that  conviction 
justified  ?  The  future  alone  can  tell  us.  But  one 
may  see  by  this  brief  outline  of  events  how  real  is 
the  evolution  of  the  musical  spirit  in  France  since 
1870,  in  spite  of  the  apparent  contradictions  of 
fashion  which  appear  on  the  surface  of  art.  It  is 
the  spirit  of  France  that  is,  after  long  oppression 
and  by  a  patient  but  eager  initiation,  realising  its 
power  and  wishing  to  dominate  in  its  turn. 

I  wanted  at  first  to  trace  the  broad  line  of  the 
movement  which  for  the  last  thirty  years  has  been 
affecting  French  music;  and  now  I  shall  consider 
the  musical  institutions  that  have  had  their  share 
in  this  movement.  You  will  not  be  surprised  if  I 
ignore  some  of  the  most  celebrated,  which  have  lost 
their  interest  in  it,  in  order  that  I  may  consider 
those  that  are  the  true  authors  of  our  regeneration. 

MUSICAL  INSTITUTIONS   BEFORE   187O 

It  is  not  by  any  means  the  oldest  and  most  cele- 
brated musical  institutions  which  have  taken  the 
largest  share  in  this  evolution  of  music  in  the  last 
thirty  years. 


THE   AWAKENING  257 

The  Academte  des  Beaux- Arts,  where  six  chairs  are 
reserved  for  the  musical  section,  could  have  played 
a  very  important  part  in  the  musical  organisation 
of  France  by  the  authority  of  its  name,  and  by  the 
many  prizes  that  it  gives  for  composition  and 
criticism,  especially  by  the  Prix  de  Rome,  which  it 
awards  every  year.  But  it  does  not  play  its  part 
well,  partly  because  of  the  antiquated  statutes  that 
govern  it,  by  which  a  handful  of  musicians  are 
associated  with  a  great  number  of  painters,  sculp- 
tors, and  architects,  who  are  ignorant  of  music  and 
mock  at  the  musicians,  as  they  did  in  the  time  of 
Berlioz  ;  and  partly  because  it  is  the  custom  of 
the  Academy  that  the  little  group  of  musicians  shall 
be  trained  in  a  very  conservative  way.  One  of  the 
names  of  these  musicians  is  justly  celebrated — that 
of  M.  Saint-Saens ;  but  there  are  others  whose 
fame  is  of  poorer  quality,  and  others  still  who  have 
no  fame  at  all.  And  the  whole  forms  a  little  group, 
which  though  it  does  not  put  any  actual  obstacles 
in  the  way  of  the  progress  of  art,  yet  does  not  look 
upon  it  favourably,  but  remains  rather  apart  in  an 
indifferent  or  even  hostile  spirit. 

The  Conservatoire  national  de  Musique  et  de 
Declamation,  which  dates  from  the  last  years  of  the 
Ancien  Regime  and  the  Revolution,  was  designed 
by  its  patriotic  and  democratic  origin  to  serve  the 
cause  of  national  art  and  free  progress.^     It  was 

*  One  knows  that  the  Conservatoire  originated  in  L'Ecole 
grainite  de  musique  de  la  garde  nationale  pavisienne,  founded  in 
1792  by  Sarrette,  and  directed  by  Gossec.  It  was  then  a  civic 
and  military  school,  but,  according  to  Chenier,  was  changed  into 
the  Institut  national  de  musique  on  8  November,  1793,  and  into 


258  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

for  a  long  time  the  corner-stone  of  the  edifice  of 
music  in  Paris.  But  although  it  has  always  num- 
bered in  its  ranks  many  illustrious  and  devoted  pro- 
fessors— among  whom  it  recognised,  a  little  late,  the 
founder  of  the  young  French  school,  Cesar  Franck — 
and  though  the  majority  of  artists  who  have  made 
a  name  in  French  music  have  received  its  teaching, 
and  the  list  of  laureates  of  Rome  who  have  come 
from  its  composition  classes  includes  all  the  heads 
of  the  artistic  movement  to-day  in  all  its  diversity, 
and  ranges  from  M.  Massenet  to  M.  Bruneau,  and 
from  M.  Charpentier  to  M.  Debussy — in  spite  of  all 
this,  it  is  no  secret  that,  since  1870,  the  official 
action  with  regard  to  the  movement  amounts  to 
almost  nothing  ;  though  we  must  at  least  do  it 
justice,  and  say  that  it  has  not  hindered  it.^  But 
if  the  spirit  of  this  academy  has  often  destroyed  the 
effect  of  the  excellent  teaching  there,  by  making 
success  in  academic  competitions  the  chief  aim  of 
the  professors  and  their  pupils,  yet  a  certain  freedom 

the  Conservatoire  on  3  August,  1795.  This  RepubHcan  Conser- 
vatoire made  it  its  business  to  keep  in  contact  with  the  spirit  of 
the  country,  and  was  directly  opposed  to  the  Opera,  which  was 
of  monarchical  origin.  See  M.  Constant  Pierre's  work  Le 
Conservatoire  national  de  musique  (1900),  and  M.  Julien  Tiersot's 
very  interesting  book  Les  FSfes  et  les  Chants  de  la  Revolution 
franfaise  (1908). 

^  You  must  remember  that  I  am  speaking  here  of  official 
action  only  ;  for  there  have  always  been  masters  among  the 
Conservatoire  teachmg  staff  who  have  united  a  fine  musical 
culture  with  a  broad-minded  and  liberal  spirit.  But  the  influence 
of  these  independent  minds  is,  generally  speaking,  small  ;  for 
they  have  not  the  disposing  of  academic  successes  ;  and  when, 
by  exception,  they  have  a  wide  influence,  like  that  of  Cesar 
Franck,  it  is  the  result  of  personal  work  outside  the  Conservatoire 
— work  that  is,  as  oitm  B.S  not,  opposed  to  Conservatoire  prin,'> 
ciples, 


THE   AWAKENING  25g 

has  always  reigned  in  the  institution.  And  though 
this  freedom  is  mainly  the  result  of  indifference,  it 
has,  however,  permitted  the  more  independent 
temperaments  to  develop  in  peace — from  Berlioz 
to  M.  Ravel.  One  should  be  grateful  for  this.  But 
such  virtues  are  too  negative  to  give  the  Conserva- 
toire a  high  place  in  the  musical  history  of  the  Third 
Republic ;  and  it  is  only  lately,  under  the  direc- 
tion of  M.  Gabriel  Faure,  that  it  has  endeavoured, 
not  without  difficulty,  to  get  back  its  place  at  the 
head  of  French  art,  which  it  had  lost,  and  which 
others  had  taken. 

The  Societe  des  Concerts  du  Conservatoire,  founded 
in  1828  under  the  direction  of  Habeneck,  has  had 
its  hour  of  glory  in  the  musical  history  of  Paris.  It 
was  through  this  society  that  Beethoven's  greatness 
was  revealed  to  France.  ^  It  was  at  the  Conserva- 
toire that  the  early  important  works  of  Berlioz  were 
first  given  :  La  Fantastique,  Harold,  and  Romeo  et 
Juliette.  It  was  there,  nearer  our  own  time,  that 
Saint-Saens's  Symphonie  avec  Orgue  and  Cesar 
Franck's  Symphonie  were  played  for  the  first  time. 
But  for  a  long  time  the  Conservatoire  seemed  to 
take  its  name  t©o  literally,  and  to  restrict  its  sphere 
to  that  of  a  museum  for  classical  music.     In  later 

^  It  is  to  be  noted  that  since  1807  the  Conservatoire  pupils 
have  made  Beethoven's  symphonies  famihar  to  Parisians.  The 
Symphony  in  C  minor  was  performed  by  them  in  1808  ;  the 
Heroic  in  181 1.  It  was  in  connection  with  one  of  these  per- 
formances that  the  Tahlettes  de  Polymnie  gave  a  curious  appre- 
ciation of  Beethoven,  which  is  quoted  by  M.  Constant  Pierre  : 
"  This  composer  is  often  grotesque  and  uncouth,  and  sometimes 
flies  majestically  like  an  eagle  and  sometimes  crawls  along  stony 
paths.  It  is  as  though  one  had  shut  up  doves  and  crocodiles 
together," 


26o  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

years,  however,  the  Societe  des  Concerts,  with  M. 
Marty,  began  to  consider  new  works.  Its  orchestra, 
composed  of  eminent  instrumentaHsts,  enjoys  a 
classical  fame  ;  though  it  is  now  no  longer  alone  in 
the  excellence  of  its  performances,  and  has  perhaps 
lost  a  little  the  secret  that  it  claimed  to  possess  for 
the  interpretation  of  great  classical  works.  It 
excels  in  works  of  a  neo-classic  character,  like  those 
of  M.  Saint-Saens,  which  are  stronger  in  style  and 
taste  than  in  life  and  passion.  The  Conservatoire 
concerts  have  also  a  relative  superiority  over  other 
concerts  in  Paris  in  the  performance  of  choral  works, 
which  up  to  the  present  have  been  very  second-rate. 
But  these  concerts  are  not  easy  of  access  for  the 
general  public,  as  the  number  of  seats  for  sale  is 
very  limited.  And  so  the  society  is  representative 
of  a  little  public  whose  taste  is,  broadly  speaking, 
conservative  and  official ;  and  the  noise  of  the 
strife  outside  its  doors  only  reaches  its  ears  slowly, 
and  with  a  deadened  sound. 

The  influence  of  the  Conservatoire  is,  in  music 
especially,  an  influence  of  the  past  and  of  the 
Government.  One  may  say  much  the  same  of  the 
Opera.  This  ancient  association,  which  bears  the 
imposing  name  of  Academic  nationale  de  Musique 
and  dates  from  1669,  is  a  sort  of  national  institution 
which  is  more  concerned  with  the  history  of  official 
art  than  with  living  art.  The  satire  with  which 
Jean- Jacques  describes,  in  his  Nouvelle  Heloise,  the 
stiff  solemnity  and  mournful  pomp  of  its  per- 
formances has  not  lost  much  of  its  truth.  What  is 
lacking  in  the  Opera  to-day  is  the  enthusiasm  that 


TH£   AWAKENING  261 

accompanied  its  former  musical  struggles  in  the 
times  of  the  "  Encyclopedistes  "  and  the  "  guerre  des 
coins."  The  great  battles  of  art  are  now  fought 
outside  its  doors  ;  and  it  has  become  by  degrees  a 
showy  salon,  a  little  faded  perhaps,  where  the  public 
is  more  interested  in  itself  than  in  the  performance. 
In  spite  of  the  enormous  sums  that  it  swallows  up 
every  year  (nearly  four  million  francs) ,  ^  only  one  or 
two  new  pieces  are  produced  in  a  year,  and  they 
are  rarely  works  that  are  representative  of  the 
modern  school.  And  though  it  has  at  last  admitted 
Wagner's  dramas  into  its  repertory,  one  can  no 
longer  consider  these  works,  half  a  century  old,  to 
be  in  the  vanguard  of  music.  The  most  esteemed 
masters  of  the  French  school,  such  as  Massenet, 
Reyer,  Chausson,  and  Vincent  dTndy,  had  to  seek 
refuge  in  the  Theatre  de  la  Monnaie  at  Brussels 
before  they  could  get  their  works  received  at  the 
Opera  in  Paris.  And  the  classical  composers  fare  no 
better.  Neither  Fidelia  nor  Gluck's  tragedies — with 
the  exception  of  Armide,  which  was  put  on  under 
pressure  of  fashion — are  represented ;  and  when 
by  chance  they  give  FreischUtz  or  Don  Juan,  one 
wonders  if  it  would  not  have  been  better  to  let  them 
rest  in  oblivion,  rather  than  treat  them  sacrilegiously 
by  adding,  cutting,  introducing  ballets  and  new 
recitatives,  and  deforming  their  style  so  as  to  bring 
them  '*  up  to  date."^    In  spite  of  the  changes  of 

^  This  is  according  to  M.  Rivet's  report  on  the  Beaux- Arts  in 
1906.  The  Opera  employs  1370  people,  and  its  expenses  are 
about  3,988,000  francs.  The  annual  grant  of  the  State  comes 
to  about  800,000  francs. 

'  On  the  occasion  of  the  revival  of  Don  Juan  in  1902,  the 


262  MUSICIANS  OF  TO-DAY 

taste  and  the  campaign  of  the  press,  the  Opera  has 
remained  to  this  day  as  it  was  in  the  time  of  Meyer- 
beer and  Gounod  and  their  disciples.  But  it  would 
be  foolish  to  pretend  that  it  has  not  its  public.  The 
receipts  show  well  enough  that  Fmist  is  in  greater 
favour  than  Siegfried  or  Tristan,  not  to  speak  of  the 
more  recent  works  of  the  new  French  school,  which 
cannot  be  acclimatised  there. 

Without  doubt,  the  enormous  stage  at  the  Opera 
does  not  lend  itself  well  to  modern  musical  dramas, 
which  are  intimate  and  concentrated,  and  would  be 
lost  in  its  immense  space,  which  is  more  adapted  for 
formal  processions  like  the  miarches  in  the  Prophete 
and  Aida.  Besides  this,  there  is  the  conventional 
acting  of  the  majority  of  the  singers,  the  dull  Hfe- 
lessness  of  the  choruses,  the  defective  acoustics, 
and  the  exaggerated  utterance  and  gestures  of  the 
actors,  demanded  by  the  great  dimensions  of  the 
place — all  of  which  is  a  serious  obstacle  to  the  con- 
ception of  a  living  and  simple  art.  But  the  chief 
obstacle  will  always  lie  in  the  very  nature  of  such  a 
theatre — a  theatre  of  luxury  and  vanity,  created 
for  a  set  of  snobs,  whose  least  interest  is  the  music, 
who  have  not  enough  intellect  to  create  a  fashion, 
but  who  servilely  follow  every  fashion  after  it  is 
thirty  years  old.  Such  a  theatre  no  longer  counts 
in  the  history  of  French  music ;  and  its  next 
directors  will  need  a  vast  amount  of  ingenuity  and 
energy  to  get  a  semblance  of  life  into  such  a  dead 
colossus. 

Revue  Musicale  counted  up  the  pages  that  had  been  added  to 
the  original  score.  They  came  to  two  hundred  and  twenty- 
eight. 


THE   AWAKENING  263 

But  it  is  quite  another  affair  with  the  Opera- 
Comique.  This  theatre  has  taken  a  very  active 
part  in  the  development  of  modern  music.  Without 
renouncing  its  classic  traditions,  or  its  delightful 
repertory  of  the  old  opera-corniques,  it  has  had 
understanding  enough,  under  the  judicious  manage- 
ment of  M.  Albert  Carre,  to  hold  itself  open  for  any 
interesting  productions  in  dramatic  music.  It 
takes  no  side  among  the  different  schools  ;  and  the 
representatives  of  the  old-fashioned  Hght  opera 
with  their  songs  elbow  the  leaders  of  the  advanced 
school.  No  association  has  done  more  important 
work,  among  musical  dramas  as  well  as  musical 
comedies,  during  the  last  twenty  years.  In  this 
theatre,  which  produced  Carmen  in  1875,  Manon  in 
1884,  and  the  Roi  d'Ys  in  1888,  were  played  the 
principal  dramas  of  M.  Bruneau,  as  well  as  M. 
Charpentier's  Louise,  M.  Debussy's  Pelleas  et 
Melisande,  and  M.  Dukas's  Ariane  et  Barhehleue. 
It  may  seem  astonishing  that  such  works  should 
have  found  a  place  at  the  Opera-Comique  and 
not  at  the  Opera.  But  if  two  musical  theatres 
of  different  kinds  exist,  one  of  which  pretends 
to  have  the  monopoly  of  great  art,  while  the 
other  with  a  simpler  and  more  intimate  character 
seeks  only  to  please,  it  is  always  the  latter 
that  has  a  better  chance  of  development  and  of 
making  new  discoveries  ;  for  the  first  is  oppressed 
by  traditions  that  become  ever  stiffer  and  more 
pedantic,  while  the  other  with  its  simplicity  and 
lack  of  pretension  is  able  to  accommodate  itself  to 
any  manner  of  life.    How  many  artists  have  revolu- 


264  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

tionised  their  times  while  they  were  merely  looked 
apon  as  people  who  amused !  Frescobaldi  and 
Philipp  Emanuel  Bach  brought  fresh  life  to  art, 
but  were  scorned  by  the  so-called  representativ-es  of 
fine  art ;  Mozart's  opere  buffe  have  more  of  truth  and 
life  in  them  than  his  opere  serie  ;  and  there  is  as 
much  dramatic  power  in  an  opera-comique  like 
Carmen  as  in  all  the  repertory  of  grand  Opera  to-day. 
And  so  the  Opera-Comique  theatre  has  become  the 
home  of  the  boldest  experiments  in  musical  drama. 
The  most  daring  or  the  most  violent  ventures  into 
musical  realism,  after  the  manner  of  Charpentier  or 
Bruneau,  and  the  subtle  fantasies  of  a  delicate  art 
of  dreams,  like  that  of  Debussy,  have  found  a  wel- 
come there.  It  has  also  been  open  to  various  kinds 
of  foreign  art  :  Humperdinck's  Hansel  iind  Gretel, 
Verdi's  Falstaff,  the  works  of  Puccini,  Mascagni, 
and  the  young  Italian  school,  Richard  Strauss's 
Fenersnot,  Rimsky-Korsakow's  Snegourotchka,  have 
all  been  played.  And  they  have  even  given  the 
classic  masterpieces  of  opera  there :  Fidelio, 
Orfeo,  Alceste,  the  two  I  phi  genie  s  ;  and  taken  more 
pains  with  them  and  mounted  them  with  more  pious 
zeal  than  they  do  at  the  Opera.  The  operas  them- 
selves are  more  at  home  there,  too,  for  the  size  of  the 
theatre  is  more  like  that  of  the  eighteenth-century 
theatres.  It  is  true  that  the  stage  rather  lacks 
depth ;  but  the  ingenuity  of  the  director  and  the 
admirable  scenic  artists  he  employs  has  succeeded  in 
making  one  forget  this  defect,  and  accomplished 
marvels.  No  theatre  in  Paris  has  more  artistic 
staging,  and  some  of  the  scenery  that  has  been 


THE  AWAKENING  265 

designed  lately  is  a  masterpiece  of  its  kind.  The 
Opera-Comique  has  also  the  advantage  of  excellent 
conductors,  and  one  of  them,  M.  Messager,  who  is 
now  Director,  has,  by  his  clever  interpretations, 
greatly  contributed  to  the  success  of  the  works  of 
the  new  school. 

NEW   MUSICAL  INSTITUTIONS 

I.  The  Societe  Nationale 

Before  1870,  French  music  had  already  in  the 
Opera  and  the  Op6ra-Comique  (without  counting 
the  various  endeavours  of  the  Theatre  Lyrique)  an 
outlet  which  was  nearly  enough  for  the  needs  of 
her  dramatic  productions.  Even  when  musical 
taste  was  most  decadent,  the  works  of  Gounod, 
Ambroise  Thomas,  and  Masse,  had  always  upheld 
the  name  of  French  opera-comique.  But  what  was 
almost  entirely  lacking  was  an  outlet  for  symphonic 
music  and  chamber-music.  "  Before  1870,"  wrote 
M.  Saint-Saens  in  Harmonic  et  Melodic,  "  a  French 
composer  who  was  foolish  enough  to  venture  on  to 
the  ground  of  instrumental  music  had  no  other 
means  of  getting  his  works  performed  than  by 
himself  arranging  a  concert  for  them."  Such  was 
Berhoz's  case  ;  for  he  had  to  gather  together  an 
orchestra  and  hire  a  room  each  time  he  wished  to 
get  a  hearing  for  his  great  symphonies.  The  finan- 
cial result  was  often  disastrous  :  the  performance 
of  the  Damnation  de  Faust  in  1846  was,  for  example, 
a  complete  failure,  and  he  had  to  give  it  up.  The 
Conservatoire,  which  was  formerly  more  hospitable. 


266  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

rather  reluctantly  performed  a  portion  of  L'Enfance 
du  Christ ;  but  it  gave  young  composers  no  en- 
couragement. 

The  first  man  who  attempted  to  make  the  sym- 
phony popular,  M.  Saint-Saens  tells  us  in  his 
Portraits  et  Souvenirs,  was  Seghers,  a  dissentient 
member  of  the  Societe  des  Concerts  du  Conservatoire, 
who  during  several  years  (1848-1854)  was  conduc- 
tor of  the  Societe  de  Sainte-Cecile,  which  had  its 
quarters  in  a  room  in  the  rue  de  la  Chaussee  d'Antin. 
There  he  had  performed  Mendelssohn's  Symphonie 
Italienne,  the  overtures  to  Tannhdiiser  and  Manfred, 
Berlioz's  Ftiite  en  Egypte,  and  Gounod's  and  Bizet's 
early  works.  But  lack  of  money  cut  short  his 
efforts. 

Pasdeloup  took  up  the  work.  After  having  been 
conductor  for  the  Societe  des  jeunes  artistes  du  Con- 
servatoire since  1851,  in  the  Salle  Herz,  he  founded, 
in  1861,  at  the  Cirque  d'Hiver,  with  the  financial 
support  of  a  rich  moneylender,  the  first  Concerts 
populaircs  de  musique  classique.  Unhappily,  says 
M.  Saint-Saens,  Pasdeloup,  even  up  to  1870,  made 
an  almost  exclusive  selection  of  German  classical 
works.  He  raised  an  impenetrable  barrier  before 
the  young  French  school,  and  the  only  French 
works  he  played  were  symphonies  by  Gounod  and 
Gouvy,  and  the  overtures  of  Les  Francs- Juges  and 
La  Muette.  It  was  impossible  to  set  up  a  rival 
society  against  him  ;  and  an  exclusive  monopoly 
in  music  was,  therefore,  held  by  him.  According 
to  M.  Saint-Saens  he  was  a  mediocre  musician, 
and  had,  in  spite  of  his  passion  for  music,  "  immense 


THE  AWAKENING  267 

incapacity."  In  Harmonie  et  Melodic  M.  Saint- 
Saens  says  :  "  The  few  chamber-music  societies 
that  existed  were  also  closed  to  all  new-comers  ; 
their  programmes  only  contained  the  names  of 
undisputed  celebrities,  the  writers  of  classic  sym- 
phonies. In  those  times  one  had  really  to  be  devoid 
of  all  common  sense  to  write  music." 

A  new  generation  was  growing  up,  however, — 
a  generation  that  was  serious  and  thoughtful,  that 
was  mere  attracted  by  pure  music  than  by  the 
theatre,  that  was  filled  with  a  burning  desire  to 
found  a  national  art.  To  this  generation  M.  Saint- 
Saens  and  M.  Vincent  dTndy  belong.  The  war  of 
1870  strengthened  these  ideas  about  music,  and, 
while  the  war  was  still  raging,  there  sprang  from 
them  the  Societe  Nationale  de  Musique. 

One  must  speak  of  this  society  with  respect,  for 
it  was  the  cradle  and  sanctuary  of  French  art.^ 
All  that  was  great  in  French  music  from  1870  to 
1900  found  a  home  there.  Without  it,  the  greater 
part  of  the  works  that  are  the  honour  of  our  music 
would  never  have  been  played  ;  perhaps  they  would 
not  ever  have  been  written.  The  Society  possessed 
the  rare  merit  of  being  able  to  anticipate  public 
opinion  by  ten  or  eleven  years,  and  in  some  ways  it 
has  formed  the  public  mind  and  obliged  it  to 
honour  those  whom  the  Society  had  already  recog- 
nised as  great  musicians. 

The  two  founders  of  the  Society  were  Romaine 

^  The  facts  which  follow  are  taken  from  the  archives  of  the 
Society  Nationale  de  Musique,  and  have  been  given  me  by  M. 
Pierre  de  Breville,  the  Society's  secretary. 


268  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

Bussine,  professor  of  Singing  at  the  Conservatoire, 
and  M.  Camille  Saint-Saens.  And,  following  their 
initiative,  Cesar  Franck,  Ernest  Guiraud,  Massenet, 
Garcin,  Gabriel  Faur6,  Henri  Duparc,  Theodore 
Dubois,  and  Taffanel,  joined  forces  with  them,  and 
at  a  meeeting  on  25  February,  1871,  agreed  to 
found  a  musical  society  that  should  give  hearings 
to  the  works  of  living  French  composers  exclusively. 
The  first  meetings  were  interrupted  by  the  doings 
of  the  Commune  ;  but  they  began  again  in  October, 
1871.  The  Society's  early  statutes  were  drawn  up 
by  Alexis  de  Castillon,  a  military  officer  and  a 
talented  composer,  who,  after  having  served  in  the 
war  of  1870  at  the  head  of  the  mobites  of  Eure-et- 
Loire,  was  one  of  the  founders  of  French  chamber- 
music,  and  died  prematurely  in  1873,  aged  thirty- 
five.  It  was  these  statutes,  signed  by  Saint-Saens, 
Castillon,  and  Garcin,  that  gave  the  Society  its 
title  of  Societe  Nationale  de  Mnsique,  and  its  device, 
''Ars  gallica."  This  is  what  the  statutes  say  about 
the  aims  of  the  Society  : 

"  The  aim  of  the  Society  is  to  aid  the  produc- 
tion and  the  popularisation  of  all  serious  musical 
works,  whether  published  or  unpublished,  of 
French  composers  ;  to  encourage  and  bring  to 
light,  so  far  as  is  in  its  power,  all  musical 
endeavour,  whatever  form  it  may  take,  on  condi- 
tion that  there  is  evidence  of  high,  artistic 
aspiration  on  the  part  of  the  author.  ...  It  is 
in  brotherly  love,  with  complete  forgetfulness  of 
self,  and  with  the  firm  intention  of  aiding  one 


THE  AWAKENING  269 

another  as  far  as  they  can,  that  the  members  of 
the  Society  will  co-operate,  each  in  his  own 
sphere  of  action,  for  the  study  and  performance 
of  the  works  which  they  shall  be  called  upon  to 
select  and  to  interpret." 

The  first  Committee  was  made  up  as  follows  : 
President,  Bussine  ;  Vice-President,  Saint-Saens  ; 
Secretary,  Alexis  de  Castillon ;  Under-Secretary, 
Jules  Garcin  ;  Treasurer,  Lenepveu.  The  mem.bers 
of  the  Committee  were  :  Cesar  Franck,  Theodore 
Dubois,  E.  Guiraud,  Fissot,  Bourgault-Ducoudray, 
Faure,  and  Lalo. 

The  first  concert  was  given  on  25  November, 
1871,  in  the  Salle  Pleyel ;  and  it  is  worthy  of  note 
that  the  first  work  played  was  a  trio  of  Cesar  Franck's . 
Since  then  the  Society  has  given  three  hundred  and 
fifty  performances  of  chamber-music  or  orchestral 
works.  The  best  known  French  composers  and 
virtuosi  have  taken  part  as  executants,  among 
others  :  Cesar  Franck,  Saint-Saens,  Massenet,  Bizet, 
Vincent  d'Indy,  Faure,  Chabrier,  Guiraud,  Debussy, 
Lekeu,  Lamoureux,  Chevillard,  Taffanel,  Widor, 
Messager,  Diemer,  Sarasate,  Risler,  Cortot,  Ysaye, 
etc.  And  among  the  compositions  that  have  been 
played  for  the  first  time  it  is  enough  to  mention  the 
following  : 

Cesar  Franck  :  Nearly  the  whole  of  his  works, 
including  his  Sonata,  Trio,  Quartette,  Quintette, 
Symphonic  Variations,  Preludes  and  Fugues,  Mass, 
Redemption,  Psyche,  and  a  part  of  Les  Beatitudes. 

Saint-Saens  :  Phaeton,  Second  Symphony,  Sonatas, 


270  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

Persian  Melodies,  the  Rapsodie  d'Arwergne,  and  a 
quartette. 

Vincent  d'Indy :  The  trilogy  of  Wallenstein, 
the  Poenie  des  Montagues,  the  Symphonie  stir  nn 
theme  mo7itagnard,  and  quartettes. 

Chabrier  :    Part  of  Gwendoline. 

Lalo  :  Fragments  of  the  Roi  d'  Ys,  Rhapsodies 
and  Symphonies. 

Bruneau  :   Penthesilee,  La  Belle  an  Bois  Dormant. 

Chausson :  Viviane,  Helene,  La  Tempete,  a 
quartette  and  a  symphony. 

Debussy :  La  Damoiselle  Hue,  the  Prelude  a 
Vapres-midi  d'un  faiine,  a  quartette,  pieces  for  the 
pianoforte,  and  melodies. 

Dukas  :  L'Apprenti  Sorcier,  and  a  sonata  for  the 
pianoforte. 

Lekeu  :   Andromede. 

Alberic  Magnard  :   Symphonies  and  a  quartette. 

Ravel :   Scheherazade,  Histoires  Naturelles,  etc. 

Saint-Saens  was  director  with  Bussine  until 
1886.  But  from  1881  the  influence  of  Franck  and 
his  disciples  became  more  and  more  felt ;  and 
Saint-Saens  began  to  lose  interest  in  the  efforts  of 
the  new  school.  In  1886  there  was  a  division  of 
opinion  about  a  proposition  of  Vincent  d'Indy's  to 
introduce  the  works  of  classical  masters  and  foreign 
composers  into  the  programmes.  This  proposition 
was  adopted  ;  but  Saint-Saens  and  Bussine  sent  in 
their  resignations.  Franck  then  became  the  true 
president,  although  he  refused  the  title  ;  and  after 
his  death,  in  1890,  Vincent  dlndy  took  his  place. 
Under  these  two  directors  a  quite  important  place 


THE   AWAKENING  271 

was  given  to  old  and  classical  music  by  com- 
posers such  as  Palestrina,  Vittoria,  Josquin,  Bach, 
Handel,  Rameau,  Gluck,  Beethoven,  Schumann, 
Liszt,  and  Brahms.  Foreign  contemporary  music 
only  occupied  a  very  limited  place.  Wagner's 
name  only  appears  once,  in  a  transcription  of  the 
Vemisberg  for  the  pianoforte  ;  and  Richard  Strauss's 
name  figures  only  against  his  Quartette.  Grieg  had 
his  hour  of  popularity  there  about  1887,  as  well  as 
the  Russians — Moussorgski,  Borodine,  Rimsky-Kor- 
sakow,  Liadow,  and  Glazounow — whom  M.  Debussy 
has  perhaps  helped  to  make  known  to  us.  At  the 
present  moment  the  Society  seems  more  exclu- 
sively French  than  ever ;  and  the  influence  of 
M.  Vincent  d'Indy  and  the  school  of  Franck  is 
predominant.  That  is  only  natural ;  the  Societe 
Nationale  most  truly  earned  its  title  to  glory  by 
discerning  Cesar  Franck's  genius  ;  for  the  Society 
was  a  little  sanctuary  where  the  great  artist  was 
honoured  at  a  time  when  he  was  ignored  or  laughed 
at  by  the  rest  of  the  world.  This  character  of  a 
sanctuary  was  kept  even  after  victory.  In  its 
general  programme  of  1903-1904,  the  Society  re- 
minded us  with  pride  that  it  had  remained  faithful 
to  the  promises  made  in  1871  ;  and  it  added  that 
if,  in  order  to  permit  its  members  to  keep  abreast  of 
the  general  progress  of  art,  it  had  little  by  little 
allowed  classical  masterpieces  and  modern  foreign 
works  of  interest  on  its  programmes,  it  had,  however, 
always  kept  its  guest-chamber  open,  and  shaped 
many  a  future  reputation  there. 
Nothing  is  truer.    The  Societe  Nationale  is  indeed 


272  MUSICIANS    OF   TO-DAY 

a  guest-chamber,  where  for  the  past  thirty  years 
a  guest-chamber  art  and  guest-chamber  opinions 
have  been  formed ;  and  from  it  some  of  the  pro- 
foundest  and  most  poetic  French  music  has  been 
derived,  such  as  Franck's  and  Debussy's  chamber- 
music.  But  its  atmosphere  is  becoming  daily  more 
rarefied.  That  is  a  danger.  It  is  to  be  feared  that 
this  art  and  thought  may  be  absorbed  by  the  deca- 
dent subtleties  or  pedantic  scholasticism  which  is 
apt  to  accompany  all  coteries — in  short,  that  its 
music  will  be  salon-music  rather  than  chamber- 
music.  Even  the  Society  itself  seems  to  have  felt 
this  at  times  ;  and  at  different  periods  has  sought 
contact  with  the  general  public,  and  put  itself  into 
direct  communication  with  it.  "It  becomes  more 
and  more  necessary,"  wrote  M.  Saint-Saens,  "  that 
French  composers  should  find  something  inter- 
mediate between  an  intimate  hearing  of  their  music 
and  a  performance  of  it  before  the  general  public — 
something  which  would  not  be  a  speculative  thing 
like  a  big  concert,  but  which  would  be  analogous  to 
the  artistic  attraction  of  an  exhibition  of  painting, 
and  which  would  dare  everything.  It  is  a  new  aim 
for  the  Societe  Nationale."  But  it  does  not  seem 
that  it  has  yet  attained  this  goal,  nor  that  it  is  near 
attaining  it,  despite  some  not  quite  happy  attempts. 
But  at  least  the  Societe  Nationale  has  gloriously 
achieved  the  task  it  set  itself.  In  thirty  years  it 
has  created  in  Paris  a  little  centre  of  earnest  com- 
posers of  symphonies  and  chamber-music,  and  a 
cultured  public  that  seems  able  to  understand  them. 


THE   AWAKENING  273 


2.  TJie  Grand  Symphony  Concerts 

Although  it  was  an  urgent  matter  that  young 
French  composers  should  unite  to  withstand  the 
general  indifference  of  the  public,  it  was  more  urgent 
still  that  that  indifference  should  be  attacked,  and 
that  music  should  be  brought  within  reach  of 
ordinary  people.  It  was  a  matter  of  taking  up  and 
completing  Pasdeloup's  work  in  a  more  artistic  and 
more  modern  spirit. 

A  publisher  of  music,  Georges  Hartmann,  feeling 
the  forces  that  were  drawing  together  in  French 
art;  gathered  about  him  the  greater  part  of  the 
talented  men  of  the  young  school — Franck,  Bizet, 
Saint-Saens,  Massenet,  Delibes,  Lalo,  A.  de  Castillon, 
Th.  Dubois,  Guiraud,  Godard,  Paladilhe,  and 
Joncieres— and  undertook  to  produce  their  works 
in  public.  He  rented  the  Odeon  theatre,  and  got 
together  an  orchestra,  the  conductorship  of  which 
he  entrusted  to  M.  £douard  Colonne.  And  on 
2  March,  1873,  the  Concert  National  was  inaugurated 
in  a  musical  matinee,  where  M.  Saint-Saens  played 
his  Concerto  in  G  minor  and  Mme.  Viardot  sang 
Schubert's  Roi  des  Aulnes.  In  the  first  year  six 
ordinary  concerts  were  given,  and,  besides  that, 
two  sacred  concerts  with  choirs,  at  which  Cesar 
Franck's  Redemption  and  Massenet's  Marie-Mag- 
deleine  were  performed.  In  1874  the  Odeon  was 
abandoned  for  the  Chatelet.  This  venture  attracted 
some  attention,  and  the  concerts  were  patronised 
by  the  public  ;    but  the  financial  results  were  not 

T 


2/4  IviUSlClAiNS    Oh    TO-DAY 

great.  1  Hartmann  was  discouraged  and  wished  to 
give  the  whole  thing  up.  But  M.  fidouard  Colonne 
conceived  the  idea  of  turning  his  orchestra  into  a 
society,  and  of  continuing  the  work  under  the  name 
of  Association  Artistique.  Among  the  artist-foun- 
ders were  MM.  Bruneau,  Benjamin  Godard,  and 
Paul  Hillemacher.  Its  early  days  were  full  of 
struggle  ;  but  owing  to  the  perseverance  of  the 
Association  all  obstacles  were  finally  overcome. 
In  1903  a  festival  was  held  to  celebrate  its  thirtieth 
anniversary.  During  these  thirty  years  it  had 
given  more  than  eight  hundred  concerts,  and  had 
performed  the  works  of  about  three  hundred  com- 
posers, of  which  half  were  French.  The  four  com- 
posers most  frequently  heard  at  the  Chatelet  were 
Saint-Saens,  Wagner,  Beethoven,  and  Berlioz.^ 

Berlioz  is  almost  the  exclusive  property  of  the 
Chatelet.  Not  only  have  they  performed  his  works 
there  more  frequently  than  anywhere  else,^  but  they 
are  better  understood  there  than  in  other  places. 
The  Colonne  orchestra  and  its  conductor,  gifted 
with  great  warmth  of  spirit, — though  it  is  sometimes 
a  little  intemperate — are  rather  bothered  by  works 
of  a  classic  nature  and  by  those  that  show  con- 
templative feeling ;    but  they  give  wonderful  ex- 

^  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  prices  of  the  seats  were 
much  cheaper  than  they  are  to-day  ;  the  best  were  only  tliree 
francs. 

*  There  were  about  340  performances  of  Saint-Saens'  works, 
380  of  Wagner's,  390  of  Beethoven's,  and  470  of  Berhoz's.  I 
owe  these  details  to  the  kind  information  of  M.  Charles  Malherbe 
and  M.  Leon  Petitjean,  the  secretary  of  the  Colonne  concerts. 

3  The  Damnation  de  Faust  alone  was  given  in  its  entirety 
^  hundre4  and  fifty  times  in  thirty  years, 


THE   AWAKENING  275 

press-ion  to  Berlioz's  tumultuous  romanticism,  his 
poetic  enthusiasm,  and  the  bright  and  delicate 
colouring  of  his  paintings  and  his  musical  land- 
scapes. Although  Berlioz  has  his  place  at  the 
Chevillard  and  Conservatoire  concerts,  it  is  to  the 
Chatelet  that  his  followers  flock  ;  and  their  en- 
thusiasm has  not  been  affected  by  the  campaign 
that  for  several  years  has  been  directed  against 
Berlioz  by  some  French  critics  under  the  influence 
of  the  younger  musical  party — the  followers  of 
d'Indy  and  Debussy. 

It  is  also  at  the  Chatelet  that  the  keenest  musical 
passion  has  been  preserved  in  the  public,  even  to 
this  day.  Thanks  to  the  size  of  the  theatre,  which 
is  one  of  the  largest  in  Paris,  and  to  the  great  number 
of  cheap  seats,  you  may  always  find  there  a  number 
of  young  students  who  make  the  most  interested 
kind  of  public  possible.  And  the  music  is  some- 
thing more  than  a  pleasure  to  them — it  is  a  neces- 
sity. There  are  some  that  make  great  sacrifices  in 
order  to  have  a  seat  at  the  Sunday  concerts.  And 
many  of  these  young  men  and  women  live  all  the 
week  on  the  thought  of  forgetting  the  world  for  a 
few  hours  in  musical  enjoyment.  Such  a  public 
did  not  exist  in  France  before  1870.  It  is  to  the 
honour  of  the  Chatelet  and  the  Pasdeloup  concerts 
to  have  created  it. 

£douard  Colonne  has  done  more  than  educate 
musical  taste  in  France ;  for  no  one  has  worked 
harder  than  he  to  break  down  the  barriers  that 
separated  the  French  public  from  the  art  of  other 
lands  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  he  has  himself  helped 


276  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

to  make  French  art  known  to  foreigners.  When  he 
himself  was  conducting  concerts  all  over  Europe 
he  entrusted  the  conductorship  at  the  Chatelet  to 
the  great  German  Kapellmeister  and  to  foreign 
composers — to  Richard  Strauss,  Grieg,  Tschaikow- 
sky,  Hans  Richter,  Hermann  Levi,  Mottl,  Nikisch, 
Mengelberg,  Siegfried  Wagner,  and  many  others. 
No  other  conductor  has  done  so  much  for  Parisian 
music  during  the  last  thirty  years  ;  and  we  must 
not  forget  it.^ 

The  Lamoureux  concerts  have  had  from  the  be- 
ginning a  very  different  character  from  the  Colonne 
concerts.  That  difference  lies  partly  in  the  per- 
sonality of  the  two  conductors,  and  partly  in  the 
fact  that  the  Lamoureux  concerts,  although  of  later 
date  than  the  Colonne  concerts  by  less  than  ten 
years,  represent  a  new  generation  in  music.  The 
progress  of  the  musical  public  was  singularly  rapid  : 
hardly  had  they  explored  the  rich  treasure-house 
of  Berlioz's  music  than  they  were  making  discoveries 
in  the  world  of  Wagner.  And  in  that  world  they 
needed  a  new  guide,  who  had  intimate  knowledge  of 
Wagner's  art  and  of  German  art  in  general.  Charles 
Lamoureux  was  that  guide.  In  1873  he  conducted 
special  performances  of  Bach  and  Handel,  given  by 
the  Societe  de  rHarmonie  sacree.  After  leaving  the 
conductorship  of  the  Opera,  he  inaugurated,  on 
21  October,  1881,  at  the  Chateau-d'Eau  theatre, 
the  Societe  des  Nouveaux  Concerts.  These  concerts 
had  at  first  very  comprehensive  programmes  of 

1  It  is  known  that  M.  Colonne  has  now  a  helper  in  M.  Gabriel 
Pieme,  who  will  succeed  him  when  he  retires. 


THE  AWAKENING  277 

every  kind  of  music  and  every  kind  of  school.  At 
the  first  concert  there  were  works  of  Beethoven, 
Handel,  Gluck,  Sacchini,  Cimarosa,  and  BerHoz. 
In  the  first  year  Lamoureux  had  Beethoven's 
Ninth  Symphony  performed,  as  well  as  a  large  part 
of  Lohengrin,  and  numerous  works  of  young  French 
musicians.  Various  compositions  of  Lalo,  Vincent 
d'Indy,  and  Chabrier,  were  performed  there  for  the 
first  time.  But  it  was  especially  to  the  study  of 
Wagner's  works  that  Lamoureux  most  gladly 
devoted  himself.  It  was  he  who  gave  the  first  hear- 
ings of  Wagner  in  their  entirety  in  France,  such  as 
the  first  and  second  act  of  Tristan,  in  1 884-1 885. 
The  Wagnerian  battle  was  still  going  on  at  that  time, 
as  the  notice  printed  at  the  head  of  the  programme 
of  Tristan  shows. 

"  The  management  of  the  Societe  des  Nouveaux 
Concerts  is  desirous  of  avoiding  any  disturbance 
during  the  performance  of  the  second  act  of 
Tristan,  and  urgently  and  respectfully  begs  that 
the  audience  will  abstain  from  giving  any  mark 
of  their  approval  or  disapproval  before  the  end 
of  the  act." 

The  same  year,  in  the  Eden  theatre,  to  which 
the  concerts  had  been  transferred,  Lamoureux  con- 
ducted, for  the  first  time  in  Paris,  the  first  act  of 
the  Walkiire.  In  these  concerts  the  tenor.  Van 
Dyck,  made  his  debut;  later,  he  was  one  of  the 
leading  performers  at  Bayreuth.  In  1886-1887 
Lamoureux    rehearsed    and    conducted    the    only 


278  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

performance  of  Lohengrin  at  the  Eden  theatre. 
Disturbances  in  the  streets  prevented  further  per- 
formances. Lamoureux  then  estabhshed  himself 
in  the  concert-room  of  the  Cirque  des  Champs 
filysees,  where  for  eleven  years  he  has  given  what 
are  called  the  Concerts-Lamotireux.  He  continued 
to  spread  the  knowledge  of  Wagner's  works,  and 
has  sometimes  had  the  help  of  some  of  the  most 
celebrated  of  the  Bayreuth  artists,  among  others, 
that  of  Mme.  Materna  and  Lilli  Lehmann.  At  the 
end  of  the  season  of  1897  Lamoureux  wished  to 
disband  his  orchestra  in  order  to  conduct  concerts 
abroad.  But  the  members  of  the  orchestra  decided 
to  remain  together  under  the  name  of  the  Associa- 
tion des  Concerts-Lamoureux,  with  Lamoureux's 
son-in-law,  M.  Camille  Chevillard,  as  conductor. 
But  Lamoureux  was  not  long  before  he  returned  to 
the  conductorship  of  the  concerts,  w^hich  had  now 
returned  to  the  Chateau-d'Eau  theatre  ;  and  a  few 
months  before  his  death,  in  1899,  he  conducted  the 
first  performance  of  Tristan  at  the  Nouveau  theatre. 
And  so  he  had  the  happiness  of  being  present  at 
the  complete  triumph  of  the  cause  for  which  he  had 
fought  so  stubbornly  for  nearly  twenty  years.  ^ 

Lamoureux's  performances  of  Wagner's  works 
have  been  among  the  best  that  have  ever  been  given. 
He  had  a  regard  for  the  work  as  a  whole  and  a  care 
for  its  details,  to  which  the  Colonne  orchestra  did 
not  quite  attain.    On  the  other  hand,  Lamoureux's 

^  My  statements  may  be  verified  by  the  account  published  in 
the  Revue  £olienne  of  January,  1902,  by  M.  Leon  Bourgeois, 
secretary  of  the  Committee  of  the  Association  des  Concerts- 
Lamoureux. 


THE   AWAKENING  ^7^ 

defect  was  the  exuberant  liveliness  with  which  he 
interpreted  compositions  of  a  romantic  nature.  He 
did  not  fully  understand  these  works  ;  and  although 
he  knew  much  more  about  classic  art  than  his  rival, 
he  rendered  its  letter  rather  than  its  spirit,  and 
paid  such  sedulous  attention  to  detail  that  music 
like  Beethoven's  lost  its  intensity  and  its  life.  But 
both  his  talents  and  his  defects  fitted  him  to  be  an 
excellent  interpreter  of  the  young  neo- Wagnerian 
school,  the  principal  representatives  of  which  in 
France  were  then  M.  Vincent  d'Indy  and  M. 
Emmanuel  Chabrier.  Lamoureux  had  need,  to  a 
certain  extent,  to  be  himself  directed  either  by  the 
living  traditions  of  Bayreuth,  or  by  the  thought  of 
modern  and  living  composers  ;  and  the  greatest 
service  he  rendered  to  French  music  was  his  crea- 
tion, thanks  to  his  extreme  care  for  material  per- 
fection, of  an  orchestra  that  was  marvellously 
equipped  for  symphonic  music. 

This  seeking  for  perfection  has  been  carried  on 
by  his  successor,  M.  Camille  Chevillard,  whose 
orchestra  is  even  more  refined  still.  One  may  say, 
I  think,  that  it  is  to-day  the  best  in  Paris.  M. 
Chevillard  is  more  attracted  by  pure  music  than 
Lamoureux  was  ;  and  he  rightly  finds  that  dramatic 
music  has  been  occupying  too  large  a  place  in 
Parisian  concerts.  In  a  letter  published  by  the 
Merciire  de  France,  in  January,  1903,  he  reproaches 
the  educators  of  pubHc  taste  with  having  fostered 
a  liking  for  opera,  and  with  not  having  awakened  a 
respect  for  pure  music  :  "  Any  four  bars  from  one 
of  Mozart's  quartettes  have,"  he  says,  "a  greater 


280  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

educational  value  than  a  showy  scene  from  an  opera." 
No  one  in  Paris  conducts  classic  works  better  than 
he,  especially  the  works  that  possess  clean,  plastic 
beauty ;  and  in  Germany  itself  it  would  be 
difficult  to  find  anyone  who  would  give  a  more 
delicate  interpretation  of  some  of  Handel's  and 
Mozart's  symphonic  works.  His  orchestra  has  kept, 
moreover,  the  superiority  that  it  had  already  ac- 
quired in  its  repertory  of  Wagner's  works.  But 
M.  Chevillard  has  communicated  a  warmth  and 
energy  of  rhythm  to  it  that  it  did  not  possess  before. 
His  interpretations  of  Beethoven,  even  if  they  are 
somewhat  superficial,  are  very  full  of  life.  Like 
Lamoureux,  he  has  hardly  caught  the  spirit  of 
French  romantic  works — of  Berlioz,  and  still  less 
of  Franck  and  his  school ;  and  he  seems  to  have 
but  lukewarm  sympathy  for  the  more  recent 
developments  of  French  music.  But  he  understands 
well  the  German  romantic  composers,  especially 
Schumann,  for  whom  he  has  a  marked  liking ; 
and  he  tried,  though  without  great  success,  to 
introduce  Liszt  and  Brahms  into  France,  and  w^as 
the  first  among  us  to  attract  real  attention  to 
Russian  music,  whose  brilliant  and  delicate  colour- 
ing he  excels  in  rendering.  And,  like  M.  Colonne, 
he  has  brought  the  great  German  Kapellmeister 
among  us — Weingartner,  Nikisch,  and  Richard 
Strauss,  the  last  mentioned  having  directed  the 
first  performance  in  Paris  of  his  symphonic  poems, 
Zarathustra,  Don  Quixote,  and  Heldenlehen,  at  the 
Lamoureux  concerts. 
Nothing  could  have  better  completed  the  musical 


THE   AWAKENING  281 

education  of  the  public  than  this  continuous  defile, 
for  the  past  ten  years,  of  Kapellmeister  and  foreign 
virtuosi,  and  the  comparisons  that  their  different 
styles  and  interpretations  afforded.  Nothing  has 
better  helped  forward  the  improvement  of  Parisian 
orchestras  than  the  emulation  brought  about  by 
the  meetings  between  Parisian  conductors  and 
those  of  other  countries.  At  present  our  own 
conductors  are  worthy  rivals  of  the  best  in  Germany. 
The  string  instruments  are  good  ;  the  wood  has  kept 
its  old  French  superiority  ;  and  though  the  brass  is 
still  the  weakest  part  of  our  orchestras,  it  has  made 
great  progress.  One  may  still  criticise  the  grouping 
of  orchestras  at  concerts,  for  it  is  often  defective  ; 
there  is  a  disproportion  between  the  different 
families  of  instruments  and,  in  consequence,  between 
their  different  sonorities,  some  of  which  are  too  thin 
and  others  too  dull.  But  these  defects  are  fairly 
common  all  over  Europe  to-day.  Unhappily,  more 
pecul'ar  to  France  is  the  insufficiency  or  poor 
quality  of  the  choirs,  whose  progress  has  been  far 
from  keeping  pace  with  that  of  the  orchestras.  It 
is  to  this  side  of  music  that  the  directors  of  concerts 
must  now  bring  their  efforts  to  bear. 

The  Lamoureux  Concerts  have  not  had  as  stable 
a  dwelling-place  as  the  Chatelet  Concerts.  They 
have  wandered  about  Paris  from  one  room  to  another 
— from  the  Cirque  d'Hiver  to  the  Cirque  d'fite,  and 
from  the  Chateau-d'Eau  to  the  Nouveau  Theatre. 
At  the  present  moment  they  are  in  the  Salle 
Gaveau,  which  is  much  too  small  for  them.  In  spite 
of  the  progress  of  music  and  musical  taste,  Paris 


282  MUSICIANS   OF  tO-DAV 

has  not  yet  a  concert-hall,  as  the  smallest  provincial 
towns  in  Germany  have  ;  and  this  shameful  in- 
difference, unworthy  of  the  artistic  renown  of  Paris, 
obliges  the  symphonic  societies  to  take  refuge  in 
circuses  or  theatres,  which  they  share  with  other 
kinds  of  performers,  though  the  acoustics  of  these 
places  are  not  intended  for  concerts.  And  so  it 
happens  that  for  six  years  the  Chevillard  Concerts 
have  been  given  at  the  back  of  a  music-hall,  which 
has  the  same  entrance,  and  which  is  only  separated 
from  the  concert-room  by  a  small  passage,  so  that 
the  roaring  choruses  of  a  danse  du  ventre  may 
mingle  with  an  adagio  of  Beethoven's  or  a  scene 
from  the  Tetralogy.  Worse  than  this,  the  smallness 
of  the  place  into  which  these  concerts  have  been 
crammed  has  been  a  serious  obstacle  in  the  way 
of  making  them  popular.  Nevertheless,  in  the 
promenade  and  galleries  of  the  Nouveau  Theatre, 
in  later  years,  arose  what  may  be  called  a  little 
war  over  concertos.  It  was  rather  a  curious  episode 
in  the  history  of  the  musical  taste  of  Paris,  and 
merits  a  few  words  here.  In  every  country,  but 
especially  in  those  countries  that  are  least  musical, 
a  virtuoso  profits  by  public  favour,  often  to  the 
detriment  of  the  work  he  is  performing  ;  for  what 
is  most  liked  in  music  is  the  musician.  The  vir- 
tuoso— whose  importance  must  not  be  underrated, 
and  who  is  worthy  of  honour  when  he  is  a  reverential 
and  sympathetic  interpreter  of  genius — has  too 
often  taken  a  lamentable  part,  especially  in  Latin 
countries,  in  the  degrading  of  musical  taste ; 
for  empty  virtuosity  makes  a  desert  of  art.     The 


THE   AWAKENING  283 

fashion  of  inept  fantasias  and  acrobatic  variations 
has,  it  is  true,  gone  by  ;  but  of  late  years  virtuosity 
has  returned  in  an  offensive  way,  and,  sheltering 
itself  under  the  solemn  classical  name  of  "  con- 
certos," it  usurped  a  place  of  rather  exaggerated 
importance  in  symphony  concerts,  and  especially 
in  M.  Chevillard's  concerts — a  place  which  Lamou- 
reux  would  never  have  given  it.  Then  the 
younger  and  more  enthusiastic  part  of  the  public 
began  to  revolt ;  and  very  soon,  with  perfect  im- 
partiality and  quite  indiscriminately,  began  to  hiss 
famous  and  obscure  virtuosi  alike  in  their  per- 
formance of  any  concerto,  whether  it  was  splendid 
or  detestable.  Nothing  found  favour  with  them — 
neither  the  playing  of  Paderewski,  nor  the  music  of 
Saint-Saens  and  the  great  masters.  The  manage- 
ment of  the  concerts  went  its  own  way  and  tried 
in  vain  to  put  out  the  disturbers,  and  to  forbid 
them  entry  to  the  concert-room  ;  and  the  battle 
went  on  for  a  long  time,  and  critics  were  drawn  into 
it.  But  in  spite  of  its  ridiculous  excesses,  and  the 
barbarism  of  the  methods  by  which  the  parterre 
expressed  its  opinions,  that  quarrel  is  not  without 
interest.  It  proved  how  a  passion  and  enthusiasm 
for  music  had  been  roused  in  France  ;  and  the 
passion,  though  unjust  in  its  expression,  was  more 
fruitful  and  of  far  greater  worth  than  indifference. 

3.  The  Schola  Cantomm 

The  Lamoureux  Concerts  had  served  their  pur- 
pose, and,  in  their  turn,  their  heroic  mission  came 


284  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

to  an  end.  They  had  forced  Wagner  on  Paris  ; 
and  Paris,  as  always,  had  overshot  the  mark,  and 
could  swear  by  no  one  but  Wagner.  French  musi- 
cians w^ere  translating  Gounod's  or  Massenet's 
ideas  into  Wagner's  style  ;  Parisian  critics  repeated 
Wagner's  theories  at  random,  whether  they  under- 
stood them  or  not — generally  when  they  did  not 
understand  them.  A  reaction  was  inevitable 
directly  Paris  was  well  saturated  with  Wagner ; 
and  it  came  about  in  1890,  among  a  chosen  few,  some 
of  whom  had  been,  and  were  even  still,  under 
Wagner's  influence.  It  was  at  first  only  a  mild  re- 
action, and  showed  itself  in  a  return  to  the  classics 
of  the  past  and  to  the  great  primitives  in  music. 

There  had  been  several  attempts  in  this  direction 
before,  but  none  of  them  had  succeeded  in  making 
any  impression  on  the  mass  of  the  public.  In  1843, 
Joseph  Napoleon  Ney,  Prince  of  Moszkowa,  founded 
in  Paris  a  society  for  the  performance  of  rehgious 
and  classical  vocal  music.  This  society,  which  the 
Prince  himself  conducted  in  his  own  house,  set 
itself  to  perform  the  vocal  works  of  the  sixteenth 
and  seventeenth  centuries.^  In  1853,  Louis  Nieder- 
meyer  founded  in  Paris  an  Ecole  de  musique  reli- 
gieuse  et  classique,  which  strove  "  to  form  singers, 
organists,  choirmasters,  and  composers  of  music, 
by  the  study  of  the  classic  works  of  the  great 
masters  of  the  fifteenth,  sixteenth,  and  seventeenth 

^  It  published,  in  eleven  volumes,  the  ancient  works  that  it 
performed.  Before  this  experiment  there  had  been  the  Concerts 
historiques  de  Fetis,  preceded  by  lectures,  which  were  inaugurated 
in  1832,  and  failed  ;  and  these  were  followed  by  Amedce 
Mereaux's  Concerts  historiques  in  1 842-1 844. 


THE  AWAKENING  285 

centuries."  This  school,  subsidised  by  the  State, 
was  a  nursery  for  some  real  musicians.  It  reckoned 
among  its  pupils  some  noted  composers,  conduc- 
tors, organists,  and  historians ;  among  others, 
M.  Gabriel  Faure,  M.  Andre  Messager,  M.  Eugene 
Gigout,  and  M.  Henry  Expert.  M.  Saint-Saens 
was  a  professor  there,  and  became  its  president. 
Nearly  five  hundred  organists,  choir-masters,  and 
professors  of  music  of  the  Conservatoire  and  other 
French  colleges  were  trained  there.  But  this 
school,  serious  in  intention,  and  a  refuge  for  the 
classic  spirit  in  the  midst  of  the  prevailing  bad 
taste,  did  not  trouble  itself  about  influencing  the 
public,  and,  in  fact,  almost  ignored  it. 

Lamoureux  attempted  in  1873  to  perform  the 
great  choral  works  of  Bach  and  Handel ;  and  in 
1878  the  celebrated  French  organist,  M.  Alexandre 
Guilmant,  ventured  to  give  concerts  at  the  Tro- 
cadero  for  the  organ  and  orchestra,  which  were 
devoted  to  religious  music  of  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries.  But  the  deplorable  acoustics 
of  the  concert-room  had  a  prejudicial  effect  on  the 
works  that  were  performed  there  ;  and  the  public 
did  not  respond  very  warmly  to  M.  Guilmant's 
efforts,  and  seemed  from  the  first  only  to  find  an 
historical  interest  in  the  masterpieces,  and  to  miss 
their  depth  and  life  altogether. 

Then  a  pupil  of  Franck's,  M.  Henry  Expert,  who 
began  his  admirable  works  on  Musical  History  in 
1882,  laid  the  foundation  of  the  Societe  J.-S.  Bach, 
in  order  to  spread  the  knowledge  of  ancient  music 
written  between  the  twelfth  and  eighteenth  cen- 


286  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

tiiries.  And  he  succeeded  in  interesting  in  his  under- 
taking, not  only  the  principal  French  musicians, 
such  as  Cesar  Franck,  Saint-Saens,  and  Gounod, 
but  also  foreigners,  such  as  Hans  von  Biilow, 
Tschaikowski,  Grieg,  Sgambati,  and  Gevaert.  Un- 
happily this  society  never  got  farther  than  ar- 
ranging what  it  wanted  to  do,  and  only  sketched 
out  the  plans  that  were  realised  later  by  Charles 
Bordes. 

The  general  public  were  not  really  interested  in 
the  art  of  the  old  musicians  until  the  Association 
des  Chantetirs  de  Saint-Gervais  was  founded  in  1892 
by  Charles  Bordes,  the  choirmaster  of  the  church  of 
Saint-Gervais.  The  immediate  success  and  the 
noisy  renown  of  the  Society  were  due  to  other  things 
besides  the  talent  of  its  conductor,  who  combined 
with  a  lively  artistic  intelligence  both  common- 
sense  and  energy  and  a  remarkable  gift  for  organisa- 
tion— it  was  due  partly  to  the  help  of  favourable 
circumstances,  partly  to  the  surfeit  of  Wagnerism, 
of  which  I  have  just  spoken,  and  partly  to  the  birth 
of  a  new  religious  art,  which  had  sprung  up  since 
the  death  of  Cesar  Franck  round  the  memory  of 
that  great  musician. 

It  is  not  my  intention  here  to  write  an  appre- 
ciation of  Cesar  Franck's  genius,  but  it  is  not  possible 
to  understand  the  musical  movement  in  Paris  of 
the  last  fifteen  years  if  one  does  not  take  into  account 
the  importance  of  his  teaching.  The  organ  class 
at  the  Conservatoire,  where  in  1872  Franck  suc- 
ceeded his  old  master  Benoist,  was  for  a  long  time, 
as  ]\I.  Vincent  dTndy  says,  "  the  true  centre  for  the 


THE  AWAKENING  287 

study  of  Composition  at  the  Conservatoire.  Many 
of  his  fellow-workers  could  never  bring  themselves 
to  look  upon  him  as  one  of  themselves,  because 
he  had  the  boldness  to  see  in  art  something  other 
than  the  means  of  earning  a  living.  Indeed,  Cesar 
Franck  was  not  of  them ;  and  they  made  him 
feel  this."  But  the  young  students  made  no  mistake 
about  the  matter.  "  At  this  time,"  M.  d'Indy  also 
tells  us,i  "  that  is  to  say  from  1872  to  1876,  the  three 
courses  of  Advanced  Musical  Composition  were 
given  by  three  professors  who  were  not  at  all  fitted 
for  their  work.  One  was  Victor  Masse,  a  composer 
of  simple  light  operas  and  a  man  with  no  under- 
standing of  a  symphony,  who  was  very  frequently 
ill  and  had  to  entrust  his  teaching  to  one  of  his 
pupils  ;  another  was  Henri  Reber,  an  oldish  musi- 
cian with  narrow  and  dogmatic  ideas  ;  and  the 
third  was  Francois  Bazin,  who  was  not  capable 
of  distinguishing  in  his  pupil's  fugues  a  false  answer 
from  a  true  one,  and  whose  highest  title  to  glory  is 
derived  from  a  composition  called  Le  Voyage  en 
Chine.  So  it  is  not  surprising  that  Cesar  Franck's 
teaching,  founded  on  that  of  Bach  and  Beethoven, 
but  admitting,  as  well,  imagination  and  all  new  and 
liberal  ideas,  did,  at  that  time,  draw  to  him  all 
young  minds  that  had  lofty  ambitions  and  that 
were  really  in  love  with  their  art.  And  so,  quite 
unconsciously,  the  master  attracted  to  himself  all 
the  sincere  and  artistic  talent  that  was  scattered 

^  The  following  information  was  given  by  M.  Vincent  d'Indy 
at  a  lecture  held  on  20  February,  1903,  at  the  £coh  des  H antes 
Etudes  sociales — a  lecture  which  later  became  a  chapter  iij 
^I,  d'Indy 's  book,  Cesar  Franck  (1906). 


288  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

about  the  different  classes  of  the  Conservatoire, 
as  well  as  that  of  his  outside  pupils." 

Among  those  who  received  his  direct  teaching^ 
were  Henri  Duparc,  Alexis  de  Castillon,  Vincent 
d'Indy,  Ernest  Chausson,  Pierre  de  Breville, 
Augusta  Holmes,  Louis  de  Serres,  Charles  Bordes, 
Guy  Ropartz,  and  Guillaume  Lekeu.  And  if  to 
these  we  add  the  pupils  in  the  organ  classes,  who 
also  came  under  his  influence,  we  have,  among 
others,  Samuel  Rousseau,  Gabriel  Pierne,  Auguste 
Chapuis,  Paul  Vidal,  and  Georges  Marty  ;  and  also 
the  virtuosi  who  were  for  some  time  intimate  with 
him,  such  as  Armand  Parent  and  Eugene  Ysaye,  to 
whom  Franck  dedicated  his  violin  sonata.  And 
if  one  thinks,  too,  of  the  artists  who,  though  not  his 
pupils,  felt  his  power — artists  such  as  Gabriel 
Faure,  Alexandre  Guilmant,  Emmanuel  Chabrier, 
and  Paul  Dukas — one  may  see  that  nearly  the  whole 
musical  generation  of  Paris  of  that  time  took  its 
inspiration  from  Cesar  Franck.  And  it  was  largely 
with  the  intention  of  perpetuating  his  teaching 
that  his  pupils,  Charles  Bordes  and  Vincent  d'Indy, 
and  his  friend,  Alexandre  Guilmant,  founded  in 
1894,  four  years  after  his  death,  the  Schola  Can- 
torum,  which  has  kept  his  memory  alive  ever  since. 

*'  Our  revered  father,  Franck,"  said  Vincent 
d'Indy,  in  a  speech,  "is  in  some  ways  the  grand- 
father of  the  Scliola  Cantorum  ;  for  it  is  his  system 
of  teaching  that  we  apply  and  try  to  carry  on 
here."  2 

1   A  complete  list  may  be  found  in  i\I.  d'lndy's  book. 
*  Tribune  de  Saint-Gervais,  November,  1900. 


THE   AWAKENING  289 

The  influence  of  Franck  was  twofold :  it  was 
artistic  and  moral.  On  the  one  hand  he  was,  if  I 
may  so  put  it,  an  admirable  professor  of  musical 
architecture  ;  he  founded  a  school  of  symphony 
and  chamber-music  such  as  France  had  never  had 
before,  which  in  certain  directions  was  newer  and 
more  daring  than  that  of  the  German  symphony 
writers.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  he  exercised  by 
his  own  character  a  memorable  influence  over  all 
those  who  came  into  contact  with  him.  His  pro- 
found faith,  that  fine,  indulgent,  and  calm  faith, 
shone  round  him  like  a  glory.  The  Catholic  party, 
who  were  awakening  to  new  life  in  France  just  then, 
tried,  after  his  death,  to  identify  his  ideals  with  their 
own.  But  this  was,  as  we  have  said  elsewhere,^  to 
narrow  Franck's  mind  ;  for  its  great  charm  lay  in 
its  harmonious  union  of  religion  and  liberty,  which 
never  hmited  its  artistic  sympathies  to  an  exclusive 
ideal.  The  composer's  son,  M.  Georges  Cesar- 
Franck,  has  in  vain  protested  against  this  monopoly 
of  his  father,  and  says  : 

"  According  to  certain  writers,  who  wish  to 
reduce  everything  to  a  dead  level  and  deduce  all 
things  from  a  single  cause,  Cesar  Franck  was  a 
mystic  whose  true  domain  was  religious  music. 
Nothing  could  be  wider  of  the  mark.  The  public 
is  given  to  generalisations,  and  is  too  easily  gulled. 
They  will  judge  a  composer  on  a  single  work,  or  a 
group  of  works,  and  class  him  once  and  for  all. 
...  In  reality,  my  father  was  a  man  of  all-round 

^  See  the  Essay  on  Vincent  d'Indy. 


290  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

accomplishments.  As  a  finished  musician,  he 
was  master  of  every  form  of  composition.  He 
wrote  both  reUgious  and  secular  music — melodies, 
dances,  pastorales,  oratorios,  symphonic  poems, 
symphonies,  sonatas,  trios,  and  operas.  He  did 
not  confine  his  attention  to  any  particular  kind 
of  work  to  the  exclusion  of  other  kinds  ;  he  was 
able  to  express  himself  in  any  way  he  chose."  ^ 

But  as  what  was  really  religious  in  him  found 
itself  in  agreement  with  a  current  of  thought  that 
was  rather  powerful  at  that  time,  it  was  inevitable 
that  this  one  side  of  his  genius  should  be  first 
brought  to  light,  and  that  religious  music  should 
be  the  first  to  benefit  by  his  work.  And  also  one 
of  the  early  manifestos  ^  of  the  Schola  Cantorum 
dealt  with  the  reform  of  sacred  music  by  carrying 
it  back  to  great  ancient  models ;  and  its  first 
decision  was  as  follows  :  "  Gregorian  chant  shall 
rest  for  all  time  the  fountain-head  and  the  base 
of  the  Church's  music,  and  shall  constitute  the  only 
model  by  which  it  may  be  truly  judged. "^     They 

^  Revue  d'histoire  et  de  critique  miisicale,  August-September, 
1901. 

2  "  The  Schola  Cantorum  aims  at  creating  a  modern  music 
truly  worthy  of  the  Church  "  (First  number  of  the  Tribune  de 
Saint-Gervais,  the  monthly  bulletin  of  the  Schola  Cantorum, 
January,  1895). 

2  The  Schola  had  in  mind  here  the  vigorous  work  of  the 
French  Benedictines,  which  had  been  done  in  silence  for  the  past 
fifty  years  ;  it  was  thinking,  too,  of  the  restoration  of  the 
Gregorian  chant  during  1S50  and  1S60  by  Dom  Gueranger,  the 
first  abbot  of  Solesmes,  a  work  sontinued  by  Dom  Jausions  and 
Dom  Pothier,  the  abbot  of  Saint-Wandrille,  who  published  in 
1883  the  Melodies  Gregorienncs,  the  Liber  Gradualis,  and  the 
Liber  Antiphonarius.    This  work  was  finally  brought  to  a  happy 


THE   AWAKENING  29I 

added  to  this,  however,  music  d  la  Palestrina,  and 
any  music  that  conformed  to  its  principles  or  was 
inspired  by  its  example.  Such  archaic  ideas  would 
certainly  never  create  a  new  kind  of  religious  music, 
but  at  least  they  have  helped  to  restore  the  old  art ; 
and  they  received  their  official  consecration  in  the 
famous  letter  written  by  Pope  Pius  X  on  the  Re- 
form of  Sacred  Music. 

The  achievement  of  an  artistic  ideal  so  restricted 
as  this  would  not  have  sufficed,  however,  to  assure 
the  success  of  the  Schola  Cantomm,  nor  establish  its 
authority  with  a  public  that  was,  whatever  people  may 
say,  only  lukewarm  in  its  religion,  and  that  would 
only  interest  itself  in  the  religious  art  of  other  days 
as  it  would  in  a  passing  fashion.  But  the  spirit  of 
curiosity  and  the  meaning  of  modern  life  began  to 
weigh  little  by  little  with  the  Schola's  principles. 
After  singing  Palestrinian  and  Gregorian  chants 
at  the  Church  of  Saint-Gervais  during  Holy  Week, 
they  played  Caris^mi,  Schiitz,  and  the  Italian  and 
German  masters  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Then 
came  Bach's  cantatas ;  and  their  performance, 
given  by  M.  Bordes  in  the  Salle  d'Harcourt,  at- 
tracted large  audiences  and  started  the  cult  of  this 
master  in  Paris.  Then  they  sang  Rameau  and 
Gluck  ;  and,  finally,  all  ancient  music,  sacred  or 
secular,  was  approved.     And  so  this  little  school, 

conclusion  by  Dom  Schmitt,  and  Dom  INIocquereau,  the  prior  of 
Solesmes,  who  in  1889  began  his  monumental  work,  the  Paleo- 
graphie  Musicale,  of  which  nine  volumes  had  appeared  in  1906. 
This  great  Benedictine  school  is  an  honour  to  France  by  the 
scientific  work  it  has  lately  done  in  music  The  school  is  at 
present  exiled  fro-m  France. 


292  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

which  had  been  consecrated  to  the  cult  of  ancient 
reUgious  music,  and  had  made  so  modest  a  begin- 
ning,^ developed  into  a  School  of  Art  capable  of 
satisfying  modern  wants ;  and  in  1900,  when 
M.  Vincent  d'Indy  became  president  of  the  Schola, 
it  was  decided  to  move  the  school  into  larger 
premises  in  the  Rue  Saint- Jacques. 

The  programme  of  this  new  school  was  explained 
by  M.  Vincent  d'Indy  in  his  Inauguration  speech 
on  2  November,  1900,  and  showed  how  he  based 
the  foundations  of  musical  teaching  upon  history. 

''  Art,  in  its  journey  across  the  ages,  is  a  micro- 
cosm which  has,  like  the  world  itself,  successive 
stages  of  youth,  maturity,  and  old  age  ;  but  it 
never  dies — it  renews  itself  perpetually.  It  is 
not  like  a  perfect  circle  ;  it  is  like  a  spiral,  and 
in  its  growth  is  always  mounting  higher.  I 
believe  in  making  students  follow  the  same  path 
that  art  itself  has  followed,  so  that  they  shall 
undergo  during  their  term  of  study  the  same 
transformations  that  music  itself  has  undergone 
during  the  centuries.  In  this  way  they  will  come 
out  much  better  armed  for  the  difQculties  of 
modern  art,  since  they  will  have  lived,  so  to 
speak,  the  hfe  of  art,  and  followed  the  natural 
and  inevitable  order  of  the  forms  that  made  up 
the  different  epochs  of  artistic  development." 

1  When  Charles  Bordes  opened  the  first  Schola  Cantorum  in 
the  Rue  Stanislas  he  was  without  help  or  resources,  and  had 
exactly  thirty-seven  francs  and  fifty  centimes  in  hand.  I 
mention  this  detail  to  give  an  idea  of  the  splendidly  courageous 
and  confident  spirit  that  Charles  Bordes  possessed, 


THE  AWAKENING  293 

M.  d'Indy  claims  that  this  system  may  be  applied 
as  successfully  to  instrumentalists  and  singers  as 
to  future  composers.  "  For  it  is  as  profitable  for 
them  to  know/'  he  says,  "  how  to  sing  a  liturgic 
monody  properly,  or  to  be  able  to  play  a  Corelli 
sonata  in  a  suitable  style,  as  it  is  for  composers  to 
study  the  structure  of  a  motet  or  a  suite."  M. 
d'Indy,  moreover,  obliged  all  students,  without 
distinction,  to  attend  the  lectures  on  vocal  music ; 
and,  besides  that,  he  instituted  a  special  class  to 
teach  the  conducting  of  orchestras — which  was 
something  quite  new  to  France.  His  object,  as  he 
clearly  said,  was  to  give  a  new  form  to  modern 
music  by  means  of  a  knowledge  of  the  music  of  the 
past. 

On  this  subject  he  says  : 

"  Where  shall  we  find  the  quickening  life  that 
will  give  us  fresh  forms  and  formulas  ?  The 
source  is  not  really  difficult  to  discover.  Do  not 
let  us  seek  it  anywhere  but  in  the  decorative  art 
of  the  plainsong  singers,  in  the  architectural  art 
of  the  age  of  Palestrina,  and  in  the  expressive 
art  of  the  great  Italians  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  It  is  there,  and  there  alone,  that  we  shall 
find  melodic  craft,  rhythmic  cadences,  and  a 
harmonic  magnificence  that  is  really  new — if 
our  modern  spirit  can  only  learn  how  to  absorb 
their  nutritious  essence.  And  so  I  prescribe  for 
all  pupils  in  the  School  the  careful  study  of 
classic  forms,  because  they  alone  are  able  to  give 
the  elements  of  a  new  life  to  our  music,  which 


294  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

will  be  founded  on  principles  that  are  sane,  solid, 
and  trustworthy."  1 

This  fine  and  intelligent  eclecticism  was  likely 
to  develop  a  critical  spirit,  but  was  rather  less 
adapted  to  form  original  personalities.  In  any 
case,  however,  it  was  excellent  discipline  in  the 
formation  of  musical  taste ;  and,  in  truth,  the 
Ecole  Superieure  de  fnusique  of  the  Rue  Saint- 
Jacques  became  a  new  Conservatoire,  both  more 
modern  and  more  learned  than  the  old  Conserva- 
toire, and  freer,  and  yet  less  free,  because  more 
self-satisfied.  The  school  developed  very  quickly. 
From  having  twenty-one  pupils  in  1896,  it  had 
three  hundred  and  twenty  in  1908.  Eminent 
musicians  and  professors  learned  in  the  history 
and  science  of  music  taught  there,  and  M.  dlndy 
himself  took  the  Composition  classes.  ^  And  in  its 
short  career  the  ScJwla  may  already  be  credited 
with  the  training  of  young  composers,  such  as 
MM.  Roussel,  D^odat  de  Severac,  Gustave  Bret, 
Labey,  Samazeuilh,  R.  de  Castera,  Serieyx,  Alquier, 
Coindreau,  Estienne,  Le  Flem,  and  Groz  ;  and  to 
these  may  be  added  M.  dTndy's  private  pupils, 
Witkowski,  and  one  of  the  foremost  of  modern 
composers,  Alberic  Magnard. 

Outside  the  influence  that  the  School  exercises 
by  its  teaching,  its  propaganda  by  means  of  concerts 
and  publications  is  very  active.     From  its  founda- 

1  Tribune  de  Saint-Gervais,  November,  1900. 

2  There  are  actually  nine  courses  of  Composition  at  the 
Schola — five  for  men  and  four  for  women.  M.  dTndy  takes 
eight  of  them,  as  well  as  a  mixed  class  for  orchestra. 


THE   AWAKENING  295 

tion  up  to  1904  it  had  given  two  hundred  perform- 
ances in  one  hundred  and  thirty  provincial  towns  ; 
more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  concerts  in  Paris, 
of  which  fifty  were  of  orchestral  and  choral  music, 
sixty  of  organ  music,  and  forty  of  chamber-music. 
These  concerts  have  been  well  attended  by  enthusi- 
astic and  appreciative  audiences,  and  have  been  a 
school  for  public  taste.  One  does  not  look  for  per- 
fect execution  there,  ^  but  for  intelligent  interpreta- 
tions and  a  thirst  for  a  fuller  knowledge  of  the  great 
works  of  the  past.  They  have  revived  Monteverde's 
Orfeo  and  his  Incoronazione  di  Poppea,  which  had 
been  forgotten  these  three  centuries  ;  and  it  was 
following  an  interest  created  by  repeated  perform- 
ances of  Rameau  at  the  Schola'^  that  Dardanus  was 
performed  at  Dijon  under  M.  d'Indy's  direction. 
Castor  et  Pollux  at  Montpellier  under  M.  Charles 
Bordes'  direction,  and  that  in  1908  the  Opera  at 
Paris  gave  Hippolyte  et  Aricie.  Branches  of  the 
Schola  have  been  started  at  Lyons,  Llarseilles, 
Bordeaux,  Avignon,  Montpellier,  Nancy,  £pinal, 
Montlu^on,    Saint-Chamond,    and    Saint-Jean-de- 

^  The  orchestra  is  mainly  composed  of  pupils  ;  and,  by  a 
generous  arrangement,  the  financial  profits  from  rehearsals  and 
performances  are  divided  among  the  pupils  who  take  part  in 
them,  and  credited  to  their  account.  And  so  besides  the  exhibi- 
tioners the  Schola  has  a  great  number  of  pupils  who  are  not  well 
off,  but  who  manage  by  these  concerts  to  defray  almost  the 
entire  expenses  of  their  education  there.  "  The  concerts  serve 
more  especially  as  aesthetic  exercises  for  the  pupils,  and  as  a 
means  of  according  them  teaching  at  small  expense  to  them- 
selves." I  owe  this  information  and  all  that  precedes  it  to  the 
kindness  of  M.  J.  de  la  Laurencie,  the  general  secretary  of  the 
Schola,  whom  I  should  like  to  thank. 

2  The  Schola  has  even  performed,  in  an  open-air  theatre, 
Rameau 's  La  Guirlande. 


296  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Luz.i  A  publishing  house  has  been  associated  with 
the  School  at  Paris  ;  and  from  this  we  get  Reviews, 
such  as  the  Tribune  de  Saint-Gervais  ;  publications 
of  old  music,  such  as  the  Anthologie  des  maitres 
religieux  -primitifs  des  XV e,  XV le,  et  XV lie  siecles, 
edited  by  Charles  Bordes  ;  the  Archives  des  maitres 
de  I'orgue  des  XV I e,  XV lie,  et  XV III e  siecles, 
edited  by  Alexandre  Guilmant  and  Andre  Pirro  ; 
the  Concerts  spirituels  de  la  Schola,  the  new  editions 
of  Orfeo,  and  the  Incoronazione  di  Poppea,  edited  by 
M.  Vincent  d'Indy  ;  and  publications  of  modern 
music,  such  as  the  Collection  du  chaitt  populaire, 
the  Repertoire  moderne  de  musique  vocale  et  d'orgue, 
and,  notably,  the  Edition  mutnelle,  published  by  the 
composers  themselves,  whose  property  it  is. 

And  all  this  shows  such  a  marvellous  activity  and 
gives  evidence  of  such  whole-hearted  enthusiasm 
that  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  join  issue  with  the 
critics  who  have  lately  attacked  the  Schola,  though 
their  attacks  have  been  in  some  degree  merited. 
Pettiness  is  to  be  found  even  in  great  artists,  and 
imperfection  in  every  human  work  ;  and  defects 
reveal  themselves  most  clearly  after  a  victory  has 
been  won.  The  Schola  has  not  escaped  the  critical 
periods   that   accompany   growth,    through   which 

1  One  may  add  to  this  list  the  choral  societies  of  Nantes  and 
Besancon,  which  are  bodies  of  the  same  order  as  the  Chanteurs 
de  Saint-Gervais.  And  we  ma}^  also  attribute  to  the  influence 
of  the  Schola  an  independent  society,  the  Socieie  J.  S.  Bach, 
started  in  Paris  by  an  old  Schola  pupil,  M.  Gustave  Bret,  which, 
since  1905,  has  devoted  itself  to  the  performance  of  the  great 
works  of  Bach.  It  is  not  one  of  the  least  merits  of  the  Schola 
that  it  has  helped  to  form  good  amateur  choirs  of  the  same  type 
as  the  choral  societies  of  Germany. 


THE  AWAKENING  297 

every  work  must  pass  if  it  is  to  triumph  and  endure. 
Without  doubt,  the  sudden  illness  and  premature 
retirement  of  the  founder  of  the  work,  M.  Charles 
Bordes,  deprived  the  Schola  of  one  of  its  most  active 
forces — a  force  that  was  perhaps  necessary  for 
the  school's  successful  development.  For  this  man 
had  been  the  school's  life  and  soul,  and  retired, 
worn  out  by  the  heavy  labours  which  he  had  borne 
alone  during  ten  years.  ^ 

But  M.  d'Indy,  like  a  courageous  apostle,  has 
continued  the  direction  of  the  Schola  with  a  firm 
hand  and  unwearying  care,  despite  his  varied  ac- 
tivities as  composer,  professor,  and  Kapellmeister  ; 
and  he  is  one  of  the  surest  and  most  reliable  guides 
for  a  young  school  of  French  music.  And  if  his 
mind  is  rather  given  to  abstractions,  and  his  moods 
are  sometimes  rather  combative,  and  certain  pre- 
judices (which  are  not  always  musical  ones)  make 
him  lean  towards  ideals  of  reason  and  immovable 
faith— and  if  at  times  his  followers  unconsciously 
distort  his  ideas,  and  try  to  dam  the  stream  which 
flows  from  Ufe  itself,  I  am  convinced  it  is  only  the 

1  M.  Charles  Bordes  did  not  even  then  give  up  his  labours 
altogether.  Though  obliged  to  retire  to  the  south  of  France 
for  his  health's  sake,  he  founded,  in  November,  1905,  the  Schola 
of  Montpellier.  This  Schola  has  given  about  fifteen  concerts 
a  year,  and  has  performed  some  of  Bach's  cantatas,  scenes  from 
Rameau's  and  Gluck's  operas,  Franck's  oratorios,  and  Monte- 
verde's  Orfeo.  In  1906  M.  Bordes  organised  an  open-air  per- 
formance of  Rameau's  Guirlande.  In  January,  1908,  he  produced 
Castor  et  Pollux  at  the  Montpellier  theatre.  The  man's  activity 
was  incredible,  and  nothing  seemed  to  tire  him.  He  was  planning 
to  start  a  dramatic  training-school  at  Montpellier  for  the  pro- 
duction of  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  century  operas,  when  he 
died,  in  November,  1909,  at  the  age  of  forty-four,  and  so  de- 
prived French  art  of  one  of  its  best  and  most  unselfish  servants. 


298  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

passing  evidence  of  a  reaction,  perhaps  a  natural 
one,  against  the  exaggerations  they  have  encoun- 
tered, and  that  the  Schola  will  always  know  how  to 
avoid  the  rocks  where  revolutionaries  of  the  past 
have  run  aground  and  become  the  conservatives 
of  the  morrow.  I  hope  the  Schola  will  never  grow 
into  the  kind  of  aristocratic  school  that  builds  walls 
about  itself,  but  will  always  open  wide  its  doors 
and  welcome  every  new  force  in  music,  even  to 
such  as  have  ideals  opposed  to  its  own.  Its  future 
renown  and  the  well-being  of  French  art  can  only 
thus  be  maintained. 


4.  The  Chamber-Music  Societies 

On  parallel  lines  with  the  big  symphony  concerts 
and  the  new  conservatoires,  societies  were  formed  to 
spread  the  knowledge  of,  and  form  a  taste  for, 
chamber-music.  This  music,  so  common  in  Ger- 
many, was  almost  unknown  in  Paris  before  1870. 
There  was  nothing  but  the  Maurin  Quartette,  which 
gave  five  or  six  concerts  every  winter  in  the  Salle 
Pleyel,  and  played  Beethoven's  last  quartettes 
there.  But  these  performances  only  attracted  a 
small  number  of  artists^  ;  and  so  far  as  the  general 
public  was  concerned  the  Societe  des  derniers  quar- 

^  The^uality  of  the  audience  atoned,  it  is  true,  for  its  small 
numbers.  Berlioz  used  to  come  to  these  concerts  wdth  his 
friends,  Damcke  and  Stephen  Heller  ;  and  it  was  after  one  of 
these  performances,  when  he  had  been  very  stirred  by  an  adagio 
in  the  E  flat  quartette,  that  he  burst  out  -w-ith,  "  What  a  man  ! 
He  could  do  everything,  and  the  others  nothing  !  " 


THE  AWAKENING  299 

tuors  de  Beethoven  had  the  reputation  for  devoting 
itself  to  a  singular  and  incomprehensible  kind  of 
music  that  had  been  written  by  a  deaf  man. 

The  true  founder  of  chamber-music  concerts  in 
Paris  was  M.  fimile  Lemoine,  who  started  the 
society  called  La  Tfompette.  He  has  given  us  a  his- 
tory of  his  work  in  the  RevuC'  Mtisdcale  (15  October, 
1903).  He  was  an  engineer  at  the  ficole  Poly- 
technique  ;  and  after  he  had  left  school  he  formed, 
about  i860,  a  quartette  society  of  earnest  amateurs, 
though  they  were  not  very  skilled  performers. 
This  little  society  continued  to  meet  regularly,  and 
after  perfecting  itself  Httle  by  httle,  finally  opened 
its  doors  to  the  general  public,  which  attended  the 
concerts  in  gradually  increasing  numbers.  Then 
La  Trompefte  came  into  being.  It  prospered  from 
the  day  that  M.  Saint-Saens— who  was  at  that 
time  a  young  man — made  its  acquaintance.  He 
was  pleased  with  these  gatherings,  and  became  an 
intimate  friend  of  Lemoine ;  and  he  interested 
himself  in  the  society,  and  induced  other  celebrated 
artists  to  take  an  interest  in  it,  too.  Among  its 
early  friends  were  MM.  Alphonse  Duvernoy,  Diemer, 
Pugno,  Delsart,  Breitner,  Delaborde,  Ch.  de  Beriot, 
Fissot,  Marsick,  Loeb,  Remy,  and  Holmann.  With 
such  patronage.  La  TrompeUe  soon  acquired  fame 
in  the  musical  world,  and  "  it  represented  in  classi- 
cal chamber-music  the  semi-official  part  played  by 
the  Societe  des  Concerts  dii  Conservatoire  in  classical 
orchestral  music.  Rubinstein,  Paderewski,  Eugene 
d'Albert,  Hans  von  Biilow,  Arthur  de  Greef,  Mme. 
Es^ipoff,  and  Mme.  Menter,  never  missed  getting  a 


300  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

hearing  there  when  their  tours  led  them  to  Paris ; 
and  to  figure  on  the  programme  of  La  Trompette 
was  hke  the  consecration  of  an  artist."  Such  a 
society  naturally  contributed  a  great  deal  to  the 
spread  of  classical  chamber-music  in  Paris.  M. 
Lemoine  writes  : 

"  Classical  music  was  so  little  known  to  the 
musical  public  that  even  the  audiences  of  La 
Trompette,  cultured  as  they  were,  did  not  at  all 
understand  Beethoven's  last  quartettes  ;  and  my 
friends  jeered  at  my  taste  for  enigmas.  This 
only  made  me  the  more  determined  that  they 
should  hear  one  of  these  great  works  at  each 
concert.  And  sometimes  I  would  give  the  same 
work  at  two  or  three  concerts  running  if  I  thought 
it  had  not  been  properly  appreciated.  In  that 
case  I  used  to  say  before  the  performance  :  *  It 
seems  to  me  that  such-and-such  a  work  has  not 
been  quite  understood  at  the  last  hearing ;  and 
as  it  is  a  really  marvellous  work,  I  am  sure  that 
your  feeling  is  that  you  do  not  know  it  sufficiently. 
So  I  have  included  it  in  to-day's  programme.'  "^ 

These  performances  of  sonatas,  trios,  and  quar- 
tettes, were  attentively  listened  to  by  an  audience 
of  five  or  six  hundred  persons,  the  greater  part  of 

^  The  name,  La  Trompette,  was  also  the  pretext  for  embelHsh- 
ing  chamber-music,  by  introducing  the  trumpet  among  the  other 
instruments.  To  this  end  M.  Saint-Saens  wrote  his  fine  septette 
for  piano,  trumpet,  two  vioUns,  viola,  violoncello,  and  double 
bass  ;  and  M.  Vincent  d'lndy  his  romantic  suite  in  D  for  trumpet, 
two  flutes,  and  string  instruments. 


THE   AWAKENING  3OI 

them  cultured  people,  students  from  the  poly- 
technics and  universities,  who  formed  the  kernel 
of  a  very  discerning  and  enthusiastic  public  for 
chamber-music. 

By  degrees,  following  the  example  of  £mile 
Lemoine,  other  quartette  societies  were  formed ; 
and  at  present  they  are  so  numerous  that  it  would 
be  difficult  to  name  them  all.  And  then  there  sprang 
up  the  same  spirit  of  intelligent  curiosity  that 
had  induced  the  French  Kapellmeister  of  the  sym- 
phony concert  societies  sometimes  to  introduce 
their  German  and  Russian  colleagues  as  conductors  ; 
and  for  this  purpose  the  Nouvelle  Societe  Phil- 
harmonique  de  Paris  was  founded,  in  1901,  on  the 
initiative  of  Dr.  Frankel  and  under  the  direction  of 
M.  Emmanuel  Rey,  to  give  a  hearing  in  Paris  to 
the  principal  foreign  quartette  players.  And  the 
profit  was  as  gseat  in  one  case  as  in  the  other  ;  and 
the  friendly  rivalry  between  French  quartette 
players  and  those  of  other  countries  bore  good  fruit, 
and  gave  us  a  fuller  understanding  of  the  inner 
character  of  German  music. 


5.  Musical  Learning  and  the  University 

While  this  movement  was  going  on  in  the  artistic 
world,  scholars  v/ere  taking  their  share  in  it,  and 
music  was  beginning  to  invade  the  University. 

But  the  thing  was  brought  about  with  some 
difficulty  ;  for  among  these  serious  people  music 
did  not  count  as  a  serious  study.    Music  was  thought 


302  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

of  as  an  agreeable  art,  a  social  accomplishment, 
and  the  idea  of  making  it  the  subject  of  scientific 
teaching  must  have  been  received  with  some  amuse- 
ment. Even  up  to  the  present  time,  general  his- 
tories of  Art  have  refused  to  accord  music  a  place, 
so  little  was  thought  of  it ;  and  other  arts  were 
indignant  at  being  mentioned  in  the  same  breath 
with  it.  This  is  illustrated  in  the  eternal  dispute 
among  M.  Jourdain's  masters,  when  the  fencing- 
master  says  : 

'''And  from  this  we  know  what  great  con- 
sideration is  due  to  us  in  a  State  ;  and  how  the 
science  of  Fencing  is  far  above  all  useless  sciences, 
such  as  dancing  and  music.'' 

The  first  lectures  on  ^Esthetics  and  Musical 
History  were  not  given  in  France  until  after  the 
war  of  1870.  ^  They  were  then  given  at  the  Conserva- 
toire, and,  until  q.uite  lately,  were  the  only  lectures 
on  Music  of  any  importance  in  Paris.  Since  1878 
they  have  been  given  in  a  very  excellent  way  by 
M.  Bourgault-Ducoudray  ;  but,  as  is  only  natural 
in  a  school  of  music,  their  character  is  artistic  rather 
than  scientific,  and  takes  the  form  of  a  sort  of 
illustration  of  the  practical  work  that  is  done  at 
the  Conservatoire.  And  as  for  Parisian  musical 
criticism  as  a  whole,  it  had,  thirty  years  ago,  an 

1  On  12  September,  1871,  at  the  suggestion  of  Ambroise 
Thomas.  The  first  lecturer  was  Barbereau,  wj|p,  however,  only- 
lectured  for  a  year.  He  was  succeeded  by  Gautier,  Professor  of 
Harmony  and  Accompaniment,  who  in  turn  was  replaced,  in 
1878,  by  M.  Bourgault-DucoudFay. 


THE   AWAKENING  303 

almost  exclusively  literary  character,  and  was 
without  technical  precision  or  historical  know- 
ledge. 

There  again,  on  the  territory  of  science,  as  on 
that  of  art,  a  new  generation  of  musicians  had 
sprung  up  since  the  war,  a  group  of  men  versed  in 
the  history  and  aesthetics  of  music  such  as  France 
had  never  known  before.  About  1890  the  result  of 
their  labours  began  to  appear.  Henry  Expert 
published  his  fine  work,  Maztres  Mitsiciens  dc  la 
Renaissance,  in  which  he  revived  a  whole  century 
of  French  music.  Alexander  Guilmant  and  Andre 
Pirro  brought  to  daylight  the  works  of  our  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  century  organists.  Pierre 
Aubry  studied  mediaeval  music.  The  admirable 
publications  of  the  Benedictines  of  Solesmes  awoke 
at  the  Schola  and  in  the  world  outside  it  a  taste 
for  the  study  of  religious  music.  Michel  Brenet 
attacked  all  epochs  of  musical  history,  and  pro- 
duced, by  his  solid  learning,  some  fine  work.  Julien 
Tiersot  began  the  history  of  French  folk-song,  and 
rescued  the  music  of  the  Revolution  from  oblivion. 
The  publisher  Durand  set  to  work  on  his  great 
editions  of  Rameau  and  Couperin.  Towards  1893  the 
study  of  Music  was  introduced  at  the  Sorbonne  by 
some  young  professors,  who  made  the  subject  the 
theses  for  their  doctor's  degree.^ 

^  The  first  three  theses  on  Music  accepted  at  the  Sorbonne 
were  those  of  M.  Jules  Combarieu  on  The  Relationship  of  Poetry 
and  Music,  of  RI.  Romain  Rolland  on  The  Beginnings  of  Opera 
before  Lully  and  Scarlatti,  and  of  jNI.  INIaurice  Emmanuel  on 
Greek  Orchestics.  There  followed,  several  years  afterwards,  M. 
Louis  Laloy's  Aristoxenus  of  Tarento  and  Greek  Music  and  M. 


304  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

This  movement  with  regard  to  musical  study 
grew  rapidly  ;  and  the  first  International  Congress 
of  Music,  held  in  Paris  at  the  time  of  the  Universal 
Exhibition  of  1900,  gave  historians  of  music  an 
opportunity  of  realising  their  influence.  In  a  few 
years,  teaching  about  music  was  to  be  had  every- 
where. At  first  there  were  the  free  lectures  of  M. 
Lionel  Dauriac  and  M.  Georges  Houdard  at  the 
Sorbonne,  those  of  MM.  Aubry,  Gastoue,  Pirro, 
and  Vincent  d'Indy  at  the  Schola  and  the  Institut 
Catholique ;  and  then,  at  the  beginning  of  1902, 
there  was  the  little  Faculty  of  Music  of  the  Ecole  des 
H antes  Etudes  sociales,  making  a  centre  for  the 
efforts  of  French  scholars  of  music  ;  and,  in  1900, 
two  official  courses  of  lectures  on  Musical  History 
and  iEsthetics  were  given  at  the  College  de  France 
and  the  Sorbonne. 

The  progress  of  musical  criticism  was  just  as 
rapid.  Professors  of  faculties,  old  pupils  of  the 
Ecole  Normale  Superieure,  or  the  £cole  des  Chartes, 
such  as  Henri  Lichtenberger,  Louis  Laloy,  and 
Pierre  Aubrey,  examined  works  of  the  past,  and 
even  of  the  present,  by  the  exact  methods  of 
historical  criticism.  Choir-masters  and  organists 
of  great  erudition,  such  as  Andre  Pirro  and  Gastoue, 
and  composers  like  Vincent  d'Indy,  Dukas,  Debussy, 
and  some  others,  analysed  their  art  with  the  confi- 
dence that  the  intimate  knowledge  of  its  practice 


Jules  Ecorcheville's  Musical  Esthetics,  from  Liilly  to  Rameau 
and  French  Instrumental  Music  of  the  Seventeenth  Century,  M. 
Andre  Pirro's  Esthetics  of  Johann  Sebastian  Bach,  and  M. 
Charles  Lalo's  Sketch  of  Scientific  Musical  Esthetics. 


THE   AWAKENING  305 

brings.  A  perfect  efflorescence  of  works  on  music 
appeared.  A  galaxy  of  distinguished  writers  and 
a  public  were  found  to  support  two  separate  collec- 
tions of  Biographies  of  Musicians  (which  were 
issued  at  the  same  time  by  different  publishers),  as 
well  as  five  or  six  good  musical  journals  of  a  scienti- 
fic character,  some  of  which  rivalled  the  best  in 
Germany.  And,  finally,  the  French  section  of  the 
Societe  Internationale  de  Musique,  which  was  founded 
in  1899  in  Berlin  to  establish  communication  be- 
tween the  scholars  of  all  countries,  found  so 
favourable  a  ground  with  us  that  the  number 
of  its  adherents  in  Paris  alone  is  now  over  one 
hundred. 


5.  Music  and  the  People 

Thus  music  had  almost  come  back  to  its  own,  as 
far  as  the  higher  kind  of  teaching  and  the  intellec- 
tual world  were  concerned.  It  remained  for  a  place 
to  be  found  for  it  in  other  kinds  of  teaching  ;  for 
there,  and  especially  in  secondary  education,  its 
advance  was  less  sure.  It  remained  for  us  to  make 
it  enter  into  the  life  of  the  nation  and  into  the 
people's  education.  This  was  a  difficult  task,  for 
in  France  art  has  always  had  an  aristocratic  char- 
acter ;  and  it  was  a  task  in  which  neither  the  State 
nor  musicians  were  very  interested.  The  Republic 
still  continued  to  regard  music  as  something  out- 
side the  people.  There  had  even  been  opposition 
shown  during  the  last  thirty  years  towards  any 


306  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

attempt  at  popular  musical  education.  In  the  old 
days  of  the  Pasdeloup  concerts  one  could  pay 
seventy-five  centimes  for  the  cheapest  places,  and 
have  a  seat  for  that ;  but  at  some  of  the  symphony 
concerts  to-day  the  cheapest  seats  are  two  and 
four  francs.  And  so  the  people  that  sometimes 
came  to  the  Pasdeloup  concerts  never  come  at  all 
to  the  big  concerts  to-day. 

And  that  is  why  one  should  applaud  the  enter- 
prise of  Victor  Charpentier,  who,  in  Marth,  1905, 
founded  a  Symphonic  Society  of  amateurs  called 
L'Orchestre,  to  give  free  hearings  for  the  benefit  of 
the  people.  And  in  that  Paris,  where  forty  years 
ago  one  would  have  had  "a  good  deal  of  trouble  to 
get  together  two  or  three  amateur  quartettes, 
Victor  Charpentier  has  been  able  to  count  on  one 
hundred  and  fifty  good  performers,^  who  under 
his  direction,  or  that  of  Saint-Saens  or  Gabriel 
Faure,  have  already  given  seventeen  free  concerts, 
of  which  ten  were  given  at  the  Trocadero.^  It  is 
to  be  hoped  that  the  State  will  help  forward  such  a 
generous  work  for  the  people  in  a  rather  more  prac- 
tical way  than  it  has  done  up  till  now.^ 

'^  There  are  ninety  violins,  fifteen  violas,  and  fifteen  violon- 
cellos. Unfortunately  it  is  much  more  difficult  to  get  recruits 
for  the  wood  wind  and  brass. 

2  They  have  performed  classical  music  of  composers  like 
Bach,  Handel,  Gluck,  Rameau,  and  Beethoven  ;  and  modern 
music  of  composers  like  Berlioz,  Saint-Saens,  Dukas,  etc.  This 
Society  has  just  installed  itself  in  the  ancient  chapel  of  the 
Dominicans  of  the  Faubourg-Saint-Honore,  who  ha-fe  given 
them  the  use  of  it. 

3  Of  late  years  there  has  been  a  veritable  outburst  of  concerts 
at  popular  prices — some  of  them  in  imitation  of  the  German 
Restaur ationskonzerte,  such  as  the  Concerts-Rouge,  the  Concerts- 


THE   AWAKENING 


307 


Attempts  have  been  made  at  different  times  to 
found  a  Theatre  Lyrique  Populaire.  But  up  to  the 
pi-esent  time  none  has  succeeded.  The  first  at- 
tempts were  made  in  1847.  M.  Carvalho's  old 
Theatre-Lyrique  was  never  a  financial  success, 
though  quite  distinguished  performances  of  operas 
were  given  there,  such  as  Gounod's  Faust  and 
Gluck's  Orfeo,  with  Mme.  Viardot  as  an  interpreter 
and  Berlioz  as  conductor  ;  and  the  directors  who 
followed  Carvalho— Rety,  Pasdeloup,  etc.— did  not 
succeed  any  better.  In  1875  Vizentini  took  over 
the  Gaite,  with  a  grant  of  two  hundred  thousand 
francs  and  excellent  artists  ;  but  he  had  to  give  it 
up.  Since  then  all  sorts  of  other  schemes  have  been 
tried  by  Viollet-le-Duc,  Guimet,  Lamoureux,  Mel- 
chior  de  Vogiie  and  Julien  Goujon,  Gabriel  Parisot, 
Colonne  and  Milliet,  Deville,  Lagoanere,  Corneille, 

Touche,  etc.,  where  classical  and  modern  symphony  music  may 
be  heard.  These  concerts  are  increasing  fast,  and  have  great 
success  among  a  public  that  is  almost  exclusively  bourgeois,  but 
they  are  yet  a  long  way  behind  the  popular  performances  of 
Handel  in  London,  where  places  may  be  had  for  sixpence  and 
threepence. 

I  do  not  attach  very  much  importance  to  the  courageous, 
though  not  always  very  intelligent  movement  of  the  Universites 
Populaires,  where  since  1886  a  collection  of  amateurs,  of  fashion- 
able people  and  artists,  meet  to  make  themselves  heard,  and 
pretend  to  initiate  the  people  into  what  are  sometimes  the  most 
complicated  and  aristocratic  works  of  a  classic  or  decadent  art. 
While  honouring  this  propaganda — whose  ardour  has  now 
abated  somewhat— one  must  say  that  it  has  shown  more  good- 
will than  common-sense.  The  people  do  not  need  amusing,  still 
less  should  they  be  bored  ;  what  they  need  is  to  learn  something 
about  music.  This  is  not  always  easy  ;  for  it  is  not  noisy  deeds 
we  want,  but  patience  and  self-sacrifice.  Good  intentions  are 
not  enough.  One  knows  the  final  failure  of  the  Conservatoire 
populaire  de  Mimi  Pinson,  started  by  Gustave  Charpentier,  for 
givmg  musical  education  to  the  work-girls  of  Paris. 


308  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Gailhard,  and  Carre  ;  but  none  of  them  achieved 
any  success.  At  the  moment,  a  new  attempt  is 
being  made  ;  and  this  time  the  thing  seems  to  show 
every  sign  of  being  a  success. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  educational  value  of 
the  theatre  and  concerts,  they  are  not  complete 
enough  in  themselves  for  the  people.  To  make 
their  influence  deep  and  enduring  it  must  be  com- 
bined with  teaching.  Music,  no  less  than  every 
other  expression  of  thought,  has  no  use  for  the 
illiterate. 

So  in  this  case  there  was  everything  to  be  done. 
There  was  no  other  popular  teaching  but  that  of 
the  numerous  Galin-Paris-Cheve  schools.  These 
schools  have  rendered  great  service,  and  are  con- 
tinuing to  render  it ;  but  their  simplified  methods 
are  not  without  drawbacks  and  gaps.  Their  purpose 
is  to  teach  the  people  a  musical  language  different 
from  that  of  cultured  people  ;  and  although  it  may 
not  be  as  difficult  as  is  supposed  to  go  from  a  know- 
ledge of  the  one  to  a  knowledge  of  the  other,  it  is 
always  wrong  to  raise  up  a  fresh  barrier — however 
small  it  is — between  the  cultured  people  and  the 
other  people,  who  in  our  own  country  are  already 
too  widely  separated. 

And  besides,  it  is  not  enough  to  know  one's 
letters  ;  one  must  also  have  books  to  read.  What 
books  have  the  people  had  ? — so  far  songs  sung  at 
the  cafe  concerts  and  the  stupid  repertoires  of 
choral  societies.  The  folk-song  had  practically 
disappeared,  and  was  not  yet  ready  for  re-birth  ; 
for  the  populace,  even  more  readily  than  the  cul- 


THE   AWAKENING 


tured  people,   are  inclined  to  blush  at  anything 
which  suggests  "  popularity.  "^ 

It  is  nearly  twenty-five  years  since  M.  Bourgault- 
Ducoudray,  who  was  one  of  the  people  who  fostered 
the  growth  of  choral  singing  in  France,  pointed  out, 
in  an  account  of  the  teaching  of  singing,  the  use- 
fulness of  making  children  sing  the  old  popular  airs 
of  the  French  provinces,  and  of  getting  the  teachers 
to  make  collections  of  them.  In  1895,  as  the  result 
of  a  meeting  organised  by  the  Correspondance 
generale  de  V Instruction  primaire,  delightful  collec- 
tions of  folk-songs  were  distributed  in  the  schools. 
The  mxelodies  were  taken  from  old  airs  collected  by 
M.  JuHen  Tiersot,  and  M.  Maurice  Buchor  had 
put  some  fresh  and  sparkling  verses  to  them. 
*'  M.  Buchor,"  I  wrote  at  the  time,  "  will  enjoy  a 
pleasure  not  common  to  poets  of  our  day :  his  songs 
will  soar  up  into  the  open  air,  like  the  lark  in  his 
Chanson  de  labour.  The  populace  may  even  recog- 
nise its  own  spirit  in  them,  and  one  day  take  pos- 
session of  them,  as  if  they  w^ere  of  their  own  con- 
triving.''2     This  prediction  has  been  almost  com- 

1  M.  Maurice  Buchor  relates  an  anecdote  which  typifies 
what  I  mean.  "  I  begged  the  conductor  of  a  good  men's  choral 
society,"  he  says,  "  to  have  one  of  Handel's  choruses  sung.  But 
he  seemed  to  hesitate.  I  had  made  the  suggestion  tentatively, 
and  then  tried  to  enlarge  on  the  sincerity  and  breadth  of  its 
musical  idea.  '  Ah,  very  good,'  he  said,  '  if  3'ou  really  want  to 
hear  it,  it  is  easily  done  ;  but  I  was  afraid  that  perhaps  it  was 
rather  too  popular.'  "  {Poeme  de  la  Vie  Himiaine  :  Introduction 
to  the  Second  Series,  1905.)  One  may  add  to  this  the  words  of 
a  professor  of  singing  in  a  primary  school  for  Higher  Education 
in  Paris  :  "  Folk-music — well,  it  is  very  good  for  the  provinces." 
(Quoted  by  Buchor  in  the  Introduction  to  the  Second  Series  of 
the  Poeme,  1902.) 

2  Taken  from  the  Supplement  d  la  Correspondance  generale  de 
V Instruction  primaire,  15  December,  1894. 


510  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

pletely  realised,  and  M.  Buchor's  songs  are  now 
the  property  of  all  the  people  of  France. 

But  M.  Buchor  did  not  remain  content  to  be  a 
poet  of  popular  song.  During  the  last  twelve 
years  he  has  made,  with  untiring  energy,  a  tour  of 
all  the  Ecoles  Normal^s  in  France,  returning  several 
times  to  places  where  he  found  signs  of  good 
vocal  ability.  In  each  school  he  made  the  pupils 
sing  his  songs — in  unison,  or  in  two  or  three  parts, 
sometimes  massing  the  boys'  and  girls'  schools  of 
one  town  together.  His  ambition  grew  with  his 
success  ;  and  to  the  folk-song  melodies^  he  began 
gradually  to  add  pieces  of  classical  music.  And  to 
impress  the  music  better  on  the  singers  he  changed 
the  existing  words,  and  tried  to  find  others,  which 
by  their  moral  and  poetic  beauty  more  exactly 
translated  the  musical  feeling.  ^     And  at  last  he 

1  Three  series  of  these  Chants  popidaires  pour  les  Acoles  have 
already  been  published. 

2  I  reserve  my  opinion,  from  an  artist's  point  of  view,  on  this 
plagiarising  of  the  words  of  songs.  On  principle  I  condemn  it 
absolutely.  But,  in  this  case,  it  is  Hobson's  choice.  Primum 
vivere,  deinde  philosophari.  If  our  contemporary  musicians 
really  wished  the  people  to  sing,  they  would  have  written  songs 
for  them  ;  but  they  seem  to  have  no  desire  to  achieve  honour 
that  way.  So  there  is  nothing  else  to  be  done  but  to  have  re- 
course to  the  musicians  of  other  days  ;  and  even  there  the  choice 
is  very  limited.  For  France  formerly,  like  the  France  of  to-day, 
had  very  few  musicians  who  had  any  understanding  of  a  great 
popular  art.  Berlioz  came  nearest  to  understanding  the  mean- 
ing of  it  ;  and  he  is  not  5^et  public  property,  so  his  airs  cannot 
be  used.  It  is  curious,  and  ratl^er  sad,  that  out  of  eighty  piecQS 
chosen  by  M.  Buchor  only  nine  of  them  are  French  ;  and  this 
is  reckoning  the  Italians,  Lully  and  Chcrubini,  as  Frenchmen. 
INI.  Buchor  has  had  to  go  to  German  classical  musicians  almost 
entirely,  and,  generally  speaking,  his  choice  has  been  a  happy 
one.  With  a  sure  instinct  he  has  given  tlie  preference  to  popular 
geniuses  like  Handel  and  Beethoven.     We  may  ask  why  he  did 


THE  AWAKENING  31I 

composed  and  grouped  together  twenty-four  poems 
in  his  Po  ^me  de  la  Vie  htimaine'^ — fine  odes  and  songs, 
written  for  classic  airs  and  choruses,  a  vast  reper- 
tory of  the  people's  joys  and  sorrows,  fitting  the 
momentous  hours  of  family  or  public  life.  With  a 
people  that  has  ancient  musical  traditions,  as  Ger- 
many has,  music  is  the  vehicle  for  the  words  and 
impresses  them  in  the  heart ;  but  in  France's  case 
it  is  truer  to  say  that  the  words  have  brought  the 
music  of  Handel  and  Beethoven  into  the  hearts  of 
French  school-children.  The  great  thing  is  that  the 
music  has  really  got  hold  of  them,  and  that  now  one 
may  hear  the  provincial  £coles  Normales  performing 
choruses  from  Fidelio,   The  Messiah,  Schumann's 

not  keep  their  words  ;  but  we  must  remember  that  at  any  rate 
they  had  to  be  translated  ;  and  though  it  may  seem  rash  to 
change  the  subject  of  a  musical  masterpiece,  it  is  certain  that 
M.  Buchor's  clever  adaptations  have  resulted  in  driving  the  fine 
thoughts  of  Handel  and  Schubert  and  Mozart  and  Beethoven 
into  the  memories  of  the  French  people,  and  making  them  part 
of  their  lives.  Had  they  heard  the  same  music  at  a  concert  they 
would  probably  not  have  been  very  much  moved.  And  that 
makes  M.  Buchor  in  the  right.  Let  the  French  people  enrich 
themselves  with  the  musical  treasures  of  Germany  until  the 
time  comes  when  they  are  able  to  create  a  music  of  their  own  ! 
This  is  a  kind  of  peaceful  conquest  to  which  our  art  is  accustomed. 
"  Now  then.  Frenchmen,"  as  Du  Bellay  used  to  say,  "  walk 
boldly  up  to  that  fine  old  Roman  city,  and  decorate  (as  you  have 
done  more  than  once)  your  temples  and  altars  with  its  spoils." 
Besides,  let  us  remember  that  the  German  masters  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  whose  words  M.  Buchor  has  plagiarised,  did  not 
hesitate  to  plagiarise  themselves  ;  and  in  turning  the  Berceuse 
of  the  Oratorio  de  Noel  into  a  Sainte  famille  hitmaine,  M.  Buchor 
has  respected  the  musical  ideas  of  Bach  much  more  than  Bach 
himself  did  when  he  turned  it  into  a  Dialogue  between  Hercules 
and  Pleasure. 

1  The  Poeme  has  been  published  in  four  parts  : — I.  De  la 
naissance  au  mariage  ("From  Birth  to  Marriage")  ;  II.  La  Citd 
("The  City");  III.  De  I'dge  viril  jiisqu'a  la  mort  ("From  Man- 
hood to  Death  ") ;    lY,  L' Ideal  {"IdQdils").     1900-1906. 


312  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Faust,  or  Bach  cantatas. ^  The  honour  of  this 
remarkable  achievement,  which  no  one  could  nave 
believed  possible  twenty  years  ago,  belongs  almost 
entirely  to  M.  Maurice  Buchor.^ 

M.  Buchor's  endeavours  have  been  the  most 
extensive  and  the  most  fruitful,  but  he  is  not  alone 
in  individual  effort.  There  was,  twenty  years  ago, 
in  the  suburbs  of  Paris  and  in  the  provinces,  a  large 
number  of  well-meaning  people  who  devoted  them- 
selves to  the  work  of  musical  education  with  sin- 
cerity and  splendid  enthusiasm.  But  their  good 
works  were  too  isolated,  and  were  swamped  by  the 

^  The  last  chorus  of  Fidelio  has  been  recently  sung  by  one 
hundred  and  seventy  schools-children  at  Douai ;  a  grand  chorus 
from  The  Messiah  by  the  Ecoles  Normales  of  Angouleme  and 
Valence  ;  and  the  great  choral  scene  and  the  last  part  of 
Schumann's  Faust  by  the  two  Ecoles  Normales  of  Limoges.  At 
Valence,  performances  are  given  every  year  in  the  theatre  there 
before  an  audience  of  between  eight  hundred  and  a  thousand 
teachers. 

Outside  the  schools,  especially  in  the  North,  a  certain  number 
of  teachers  of  both  sexes  have  formed  choral  societies  among 
work-girls  and  co-operative  societies,  such  as  La  Fraiernelle  at 
Saint  Quentin. 

In  a  general  way  one  may  say  that  M.  Maurice  Buchor's 
campaign  has  especially  succeeded  in  departments  like  that  of 
Aisne  and  Drome,  where  the  ground  has  been  prepared  by  the 
Academy  Inspector.  Unhappily  in  many  districts  the  move- 
ment receives  a  lively  opposition  from  music-teachers,  who  do 
not  approve  of  this  mnemotechnical  way  of  learning  poetry  with 
music,  without  any  instruction  in  solfeggio  or  musical  science. 
And  it  is  quite  evident  that  this  method  would  have  its  defects 
if  it  were  a  question  of  training  musicians.  But  it  is  really  a 
matter  of  training  people  who  have  some  music  in  them  ;  and 
so  the  musicians  must  not  be  too  fastidious.  I  hope  that  great 
musicians  will  one  day  spring  from  this  good  ground — musicians 
more  hun>an  than  those  of  our  own  time,  musicians  whose  music 
will  be  rooted  in  their  hearts  and  in  their  country. 

2  We  must  not  forget  M.  Bourgault-Ducoudray,  who  was  his 
forerunner  with  his  Chants  de  Fontenoy,  collections  of  songs  for 
the  ifccoles  Normales. 


THE   AWAKENING  313 

apathy  of  the  people  about  them  ;  though  some- 
times they  kindled  little  fires  of  love  and  understand- 
ing in  art,  which  only  needed  coaxing  in  order  to 
burn  brightly ;  and  even  their  less  happy  efforts 
generally  succeeded  in  lighting  a  few  sparks,  which 
were  left  smouldering  in  people's  hearts.  ^ 

At  length,  as  a  result  of  these  individual  efforts, 
the  State  began  to  show  an  interest  in  this  educa- 
tional movement,  although  it  had  for  so  long  stood 
apart  from  it.^  It  discovered,  in  its  turn,  the 
educational  value  of  singing.  A  musical  test  was 
instituted  at  the  examination  for  the  Brevet  superieur^ 
which  made  the  study  of  solfeggio  a  more  serious 
matter  in  the  ficoles  Normales.  In  1903  an  en- 
deavour was  made  to  organise  the  teaching  of  music 
in  the  schools  and  colleges  in  a  more  rational  way.  * 
In   1904,   following  the  suggestions   of  M.   Saint- 

1  Mention  must  especially  be  made  of  little  groups  of  young 
students,  pupils  of  the  Universities  or  the  larger  schools,  who 
are  devoting  themselves  at  present  to  the  moral  and  musical  in- 
struction of  the  people.  Such  an  effort,  made  more  than  a  year 
ago  at  Vaugirard,  resulted  in  the  Manecanterie  des  petits  chan- 
teurs  de  la  Croix  de  hois,  a  small  choir  of  the  children  of  the 
people,  who  in  the  poor  parishes  go  from  one  church  to  another 
singing  Gregorian  and  Palestrinian  music. 

2  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  recall  the  unfortunate  statute 
of  15  March,  1850,  which  says  :  "  Primary  instruction  may 
comprise  singing." 

3  By  the  decree  of  4  August,  1905.  At  the  same  time,  a  pro- 
gramme and  pedagogic  instructions  were  issued.  The  importance 
of  musical  dictation  and  the  usefulness  of  the  Galin  methods  for 
beginners  were  urged.  Let  us  hope  that  the  State  will  decide 
officially  to  support  M.  Buchor's  endeavours,  and  that  it  will 
gradually  introduce  into  schools  M.  Jacques-Delacroze's  methods 
of  rhythmic  gymnastics,  which  have  produced  such  astonishing 
results  in  Switzerland. 

*  M.  Chaumie's  suggestion.  See  the  Revue  Musicale,  15  July, 
1903. 


314  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

Saens  and  M.  Bourgault-Ducoudray,  class  singing 
was  incorporated  with  other  subjects  in  the  pro- 
gramme of  teaching,  1  and  a  free  school  of  choral 
singing  was  started  in  Paris  under  the  honorary 
chairmanship  of  M.  Henry  Marcel,  director  of  the 
Beaux-Arts,  and  under  the  direction  of  M.  Radi- 
guer.  Quite  lately  a  choral  society  for  young 
school-girls  has  been  formed,  wit-h  the  Vice-Provost 
as  president  and  a  membership  of  from  six  to  seven 
hundred  young  girls,  who  since  1906  have  given 
an  annual  concert  under  the  direction  of  M.  Gabriel 
Pierne.  And  lastly,  at  the  end  of  1907,  an  associa- 
tion of  professors  was  started  to  undertake  the 
teaching  of  music  in  the  institutions  of  pubhc  in- 
struction ;  its  chairman  was  the  Inspector-General, 
M.  Gilles,  and  its  honorary  presidents  were  M. 
Liard  and  M.  Saint-Sae-ns.  Its  object  is  to  aid  the 
progress  of  musical  instruction  by  establishing  a 
centre  to  promote  friendly  relations  among  pro- 
fessors of  music  ;  by  centralising  their  interests 
and  studies  ;  by  organising  a  circulating  library  of 
music  and  a  periodical  magazine  in  which  questions 
relating  to  music  may  be  discussed  ;  by  establishing 
communication  between  French  professors  and 
foreign  professors  ;  and  by  seeking  to  bring  to- 
gether professors  of  music  and  professors  in  other 
branches  of  public  teaching. 

All  this  is  not  much,  and  we  are  yet  terribly 
behindhand,  especially  as  regards  secondary  teach- 
ing, which  is  considered  less  important  than  primary 

1  Revue  Musicale,  December  15,  1903,  and  i  and  15  January, 
1904. 


THE   AWAKENING  3^5 

teaching.!  But  we  are  scrambling  out  of  an  abyss 
of  ignorance,  and  it  is  something  to  have  the  desire 
to  get  out  of  it.  We  must  remember  that  Germany 
has  not  always  been  in  its  present  plethoric  state 
of  musical  prosperity.  The  great  choral  societies 
only  date  from  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
Germany  in  the  time  of  Bach  was  poor— if  not 
poorer— in  means  for  performing  choral  works 
than  France  to-day.  Bach's  only  executants  were 
his  pupils  at  the  Thomasschule  at  Leipsic,  of  which 
barely  a  score  knew  how  to  sing.^  And  now  these 
people  gather  together  for  the  great  Mdnnergesangs- 
feste  (choral  festivals)  and  the  Mnsikfesie  (music 
festivals)  of  Imperial  Germany. 

Let  us  hope  on  and  persevere.  The  main  thing  is 
that  a  st^rt  has  been  made  ;  the  thing  that  remains 
is  to  have  patience  and— persistence. 

THE   PRESE-NT  CONDITION    OF   FRENCH   MUSIC 

We  have  seen  how  the  musical  education  of 
France  is  going  on  in  theatres,  in  concerts,  in  schools, 
by  lectures  and  by  books ;  and  the  Parisian's 
rather  restless  desire  for  knowledge  seems  to  be 
satisfied  for  the  moment.  The  mind  of  Paris  has 
made   a   journey— a   hasty   journey,    it   is   true— 

1  "  In  this,"  says  M.  Buchor,  "  as  in  many  other  things,  the 
children  of  the  people  set  an  example  to  the  children  of  the 
middle  classes."  That  is  true  ;  but  one  must  not  blame  ^the 
middle-class  children  so  much  as  those  m  authority,  who,  in 
this,  as  in  many  other  things,"  have  not  fulfilled  their  duties. 

2  The  Passion  according  to  St.  Matthew  was  given  first  of  all 
by  two  little  choirs,  consisting  of  from  twelve  to  sixteen  students, 
including  the  soloists. 


3l6  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

through  the  music  of  other  countries  and  other 
times, ^  and  is  now  becoming  introspective.  After 
a  mad  enthusiasm  over  discoveries  in  strange  lands, 
music  and  musical  criticism  have  regained  their 
self-possession  and  their  jealous  love  of  indepen- 
dence. A  very  decided  reaction  against  foreign 
music  has  been  shown  since  the  time  of  the  Universal 
Exhibition  of  1900.  This  movement  is  not  un- 
connected, consciously  or  unconsciously,  with  the 
nationalist  train  of  thought,  which  was  stirred  up 
in  France,  and  especially  in  Paris,  somewhere  about 
the  same  time.  But  it  is  also  a  natural  develop- 
ment in  the  evolution  of  music.  French  music  felt 
new  vigour  springing  up  within  her,  and  was  aston- 
ished at  it ;  her  days  of  preparation  were  over,  and 
she  aspired  to  fly  alone ;  and,  in  accordance  with 
the  eternal  rule  of  history,  the  first  use  she  made  of 
her  newly-acquired  strength  was  to  defy  her  teachers. 
And  this  revolt  against  foreign  influences  was 
directed — one  had  expected  it — against  the  strongest 
of  the  influences — the  influence  of  German  music 
as  personified  by  Wagner.  Two  discussions  in 
magazines,  in  1903  and  1904,  brought  this  state  of 
mind  curiously  to  light :  one  was  an  enquiry  held 
by  M.  Jacques  Morland  in  the  Mercure  de  France 
(January,  1903)  as  to  The  Influence  of  German 
Music  in  France ;  and  the  other  was  that  of  M. 
Paul  Landormy  in  the  Revue  Bleue  (March  and  April, 

^  It  is  hardly  necessar}^  to  mention  the  curious  attraction 
that  some  of  our  musicians  are  beginning  to  feel  for  the  art  of 
civilisations  that  are  quite  opposed  to  those  of  the  West.  Slowly 
and  quietly  the  spirit  of  the  Far  East  is  insinuating  itself  into 
European  music. 


THE   AWAKENING  317 

1904)  as  to  The  Present  Condition  of  French  Music. 
The  first  was  like  a  shout  of  deHverance,  and  was 
not  without  exaggeration  and  a  good  deal  of  in- 
gratitude ;  for  it  represented  French  musicians 
and  critics  throwing  off  Wagner's  influence  because 
it  had  had  its  day  ;  the  second  set  forth  the  theories 
of  the  new  French  school,  and  declared  the  indepen- 
dence of  that  school. 

For  several  years  the  leader  of  the  young  school, 
M.  Claude  Debussy,  has,  in  his  writings  in  the 
Revue  Blanche  and  Qil  Bias,  attacked  Wagnerian 
art.  His  personality  is  very  French — capricious, 
poetic,  and  spiritiielle,  full  of  lively  intelHgence, 
heedless,  independent,  scattering  new  ideas,  giving 
vent  to  paradoxical  caprice,  criticising  the  opinions 
of  ceuituries  with  the  teasing  impertinence  of  a  little 
street  boy,  attacking  great  heroes  of  music  like 
Gluck,  Wagner,  and  Beethoven,  upholding  only 
Bach,  Mozart,  and  Weber,  and  loudly  professing 
his  preference  for  the  old  French  masters  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  But  in  spite  of  this  he  is 
bringing  back  to  French  music  its  true  nature  and 
its  forgotten  ideals — its  clearness,  its  elegant  sim- 
plicity, its  naturalness,  and  especially  its  grace  and 
plastic  beauty.  He  wishes  music  to  free  itself  from 
all  literary  and  philosophic  pretensions,  which  have 
burdened  German  music  in  the  nineteenth  century 
(and  perhaps  have  always  done  so)  ;  he  wishes 
music  to  get  away  from  the  rhetoric  which  has  been 
handed  down  to  us  through  the  centuries,  from  its 
heavy  construction  and  precise  orderliness,  from 
its    harmonic    and    rhythmic    formulas,    and    the 


3l8  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

exercises  of  oratorical  embroidery.  He  wishes  that 
all  about  it  shall  be  painting  and  poetry  ;  that  it 
shall  explain  its  true  feeling  in  a  clear  and  direct 
way ;  and  that  melody,  harmony,  and  rhythm 
shall  develop  broadly  along  the  lines  of  inner  laws, 
and  not  after  the  pretended  laws  of  some  intellec- 
tual arrangement.  And  he  himself  preaches  by 
example  in  his  Pelleas  et  Melisande,  and  breaks  with 
ail  the  principles  of  the  Bayreuth  drama,  and  gives 
us  the  model  of  the  new  art  of  his  dreams.  And  on 
all  sides  discerning  and  well-informed  critics,  such 
as  M.  Pierre  Lalo  of  Le  Temps,  M.  Louis  Laloy  of 
the  Revue  Musicale  and  the  Mercuve  Musicale,  and 
M.  ]\Ia-rnold  of  Le  Mercure  de  France,  have  cham- 
pioned his  doctrines  and  his  art.  Even  the  Schola 
Cantonim,  whose  eclectic  and  archaic  spirit  is  very 
different  from  that  of  Debussy,  seemed  at  first  to 
be  drawn  into  the  same  current  of  thought ;  and 
this  school  which  had  so  helped  to  propagate  the 
foreign  influences  of  the  past,  did  not  seem  to  be 
quite  insensible  to  the  nationalistic  preoccupation 
of  the  last  few  years.  So  the  Schola  devoted  itself 
more  and  more — as  was  moreover  its  right  and  duty 
— to  the  French  music  of  the  past,  and  filled  its 
concert  programmes  with  French  works  of  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries — with  Marc 
Antoine  Charpentier,  Du  Mont,  Leclair,  Cleram- 
bault,  Couperin,  and  the  French  primitive  com- 
posers for  the  organ,  the  harpsichord,  and  the 
violin  ;  and  with  the  works  of  dramatic  composers, 
especially  of  the  great  Rameau,  who,  after  a  period 
of  complete  oblivion,  suddenly  benefited  by  this 


THE   AWAKENING  319 

excessive  reaction,  to  the  detriment  of  Gluck,  whom 
the  young  critics,  following  M.  Debussy's  example, 
severely  abused.^  There  was  even  a  moment  when 
the  Schola  took  a  decided  share  in  the  battle,  and, 
through  M.  Charles  Bordes,  issued  a  manifesto — 
a  Credo,  as  they  called  it— about  a  new  art  foumded 
on  the  ancient  traditions  of  French  music  : 

"  We  wish  to  have  free  speech  in  music — a 
sustained  recitative,  infinite  variety,  and,  in 
short,  complete  liberty  in  musical  utterance.  We 
wish  for  the  triumph  of  natural  music,  so  that  it 
shall  be  as  free  and  full  of  movement  as  speech, 
and  as  plastic  and  rhythmic  as  a  classical  dance." 

It  was  open  war  against  the  metrical  art  of  the 
last  three  centuries,  in  the  name  of  national  tradi- 
tion (more  or  less  freely  interpreted),  of  folk-song, 
and  of  Gregorian  chant.  And  "  the  constant 
and  avowed  purpose  of  all  this  campaign  was  the 
triumph  of  French  music,  and  its  cult/"^ 

This  manifesto  reflects  in  its  own  way  the  spirit 
of  Debussy  and  his  untrammelled  musical  im- 
pressionism ;  and  though  it  shows  a  good  deal  of 
naivete  and  some  intolerance,  there  was  in  it  a 
strength    of    youthful    enthusiasm    that    accorded 

^  There  is  no  need  to  say  that  Rameau's  genius  justified  all 
this  enthusiasm  ;  but  one  cannot  help  believing  that  it  was 
aroused,  not  so  much  on  account  of  his  musical  genius  as  on 
account  of  his  supposed  championship  of  the  French  music  of 
the  past  against  foreign  art ;  though  that  art  was  well  adapted 
to  the  laws  of  French  opera,  as  we  may  see  for  ourselves  in 
Gluck's  case. 

2  La  Tribune  de  Saint-Gervais,  September,  1903. 


320  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

with  the  great  hopes  of  the  time,  and  foretold 
glorious  days  to  come  and  a  splendid  harvest  of 
music. 

Not  many  years  have  passed  since  then  ;  yet  the 
sky  is  already  a  little  clouded,  the  light  not  quite 
so  bright.  Hope  has  not  failed  ;  but  it  has  not  been 
fulfilled.  France  is  waiting,  and  is  getting  a  little 
impatient.  But  the  impatience  is  unnecessary ; 
for  to  found  an  art  we  must  bring  time  to  our  aid ; 
art  must  ripen  tranquilly.  Yet  tranquillity  is  what 
is  most  lacking  in  Parisian  art.  The  artists,  instead 
of  working  steadily  at  their  own  tasks  and  uniting 
in  a  common  aim,  are  given  up  to  sterile  disputes. 
The  young  French  school  hardly  exists  any  longer, 
as  it  has  now  split  up  into  two  or  three  parties. 
To  a  fight  against  foreign  art  has  succeeded  a  fight 
among  themselves  :  it  is  the  deep-rooted  evil  of 
the  country,  this  vain  expenditure  of  force.  And 
most  curious  of  all  is  the  fact  that  the  quarrel  is 
not  between  the  conservatives  and  the  progressives 
in  music,  but  between  the  two  most  advanced 
sections  :  the  ScJiola  on  the  one  hand,  who,  should 
it  gaiji  the  victory,  would  through  its  dogmas  and 
traditions  inevitably  develop  the  airs  of  a  little 
academy  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  independent 
party,  whose  most  important  representative  is  ]\I. 
Debussy.  It  is  not  for  us  to  enter  into  the  quarrel ; 
we  would  only  suggest  to  the  parties  in  question 
that  if  any  profit  is  to  result  from  their  misunder- 
standing, it  will  be  derived  by  a  third  party — the 
party  in  favour  of  routine,  the  party  that  has  never 
lost  favour  with  the  great  theatre-going  public,—- 


THE   AWAKENING  321 

a  party  that  will  soon  make  good  the  place  it  has 
lost  if  those  who  aim  at  defending  art  set  about 
fighting  one  another.  Victory  has  been  proclaimed 
too  soon  ;  for  whatever  the  optimistic  representa- 
tives of  the  young  school  may  say,  victory  has  not 
yet  been  gained  ;  and  it  will  not  be  gained  for  some 
time  yet — not  until  public  taste  is  changed,  not 
while  the  nation  lacks  musical  education,  nor  until 
the  cultured  few  are  united  to  the  people,  through 
whom  their  thoughts  shall  be  preserved.  For  not 
only — with  a  few  rare  and  generous  exceptions — 
do  the  more  aristocratic  sections  of  society  ignore 
the  education  of  the  people,  but  they  ignore  the  very 
existence  of  the  people's  soul.  Here  and  there,  a 
composer— such  as  Bizet  and  M.  Saint-Saens,  or 
M.  d'Indy  and  his  disciples —will  build  up  sym- 
phonies and  rhapsodies  and  very  difficult  pieces 
for  the  piano  on  the  popular  airs  of  Auvergne, 
Provence,  or  the  Cevennes  ;  but  that  is  only  a  whim 
of  theirs,  a  little  ingenious  pastime  for  clever  artists, 
such  as  the  Flemish  masters  of  the  fifteenth  century 
indulged  in  when  they  decorated  popular  airs  with 
polyphonic  elaborations.  In  spite  of  the  advance 
of  the  democratic  spirit,  musical  art — or  at  least 
all  that  counts  in  musical  art — has  never  been  more 
aristocratic  than  it  is  to-day.  Probably  the  phe- 
nomenon is  not  peculiar  to  music,  and  shows  itself 
more  or  less  in  other  arts  ;  but  in  no  other  art  is  it 
so  dangerous,  for  no  other  has  roots  less  firmly 
fixed  in  the  soil  of  France.  And  it  is  no  consolation 
to  tell  oneself  that  this  is  according  to  the  great 
French  traditions,  which  have  nearly  always  been 


322  MUSICIANS   OF   TO-DAY 

aristocratic.  Traditions,  great  and  small,  are 
menaced  to-day  ;  the  axe  is  ready  for  them.  Who- 
ever wishes  to  live  must  adapt  himself  to  the  new 
conditions  of  life.  The  future  of  art  is  at  stake. 
To  continue  as  we  are  doing  is  not  only  to  weaken 
music  by  condemning  it  to  live  in  unhealthy  con- 
ditions, but  also  to  risk  its  disappearing  sooner  or 
later  under  the  rising  flood  of  popular  misconcep- 
tions of  music.  Let  us  take  warning  by  the  fact  that 
we  have  already  had  to  defend  music  ^  when  it  was 
attacked  at  some  of  the  parliamentary  assemblies  ; 
and  let  us  remember  the  pitifulness  of  the  defence. 
We  must  not  let  the  day  come  when  a  famous 
speech  will  be  repeated  with  a  slight  alteration — 
"  The  Republic  has  no  need  of  musicians." 

It  is  the  historian's  duty  to  point  out  the  dangers 
of  the  present  hour,  and  to  remind  the  French 
musicians  who  have  been  satisfied  with  their  first 
victory  that  the  future  is  anything  but  sure,  and  that 
we  must  never  disarm  w^hile  we  have  a  common 
enemy  before  us,  an  enemy  especially  dangerous 
in  a  democracy — mediocrity. 

The  road  that  stretches  before  us  is  long  and 
difficult.  But  if  we  turn  our  heads  and  look  back 
over  the  way  we  have  come  we  may  take  heart. 
Which  of  us  does  not  feel  a  little  glow  of  pride  at  the 
thought  of  what  has  been  done  in  the  last  thirty 

1  At  any  rate,  certain  forms  of  music— the  highest.  See  the 
discussions  at  the  Chambre  des  Deputes  on  the  budget  of  the 
Beaux- Arts  in  February,  1906 ;  and  the  speeches  of  MM. 
Theodore  Denis,  Beauquier,  and  Dujardin-Beaumetz,  on 
Rehgious  Music,  the  Niedermeyer  School,  and  the  civic  value  of 
the  organ. 


THE   AWAKENING  323 

years  ?  Here  is  a  town  where,  before  1870,  music 
had  fallen  to  the  most  miserable  depths,  which  to- 
day teems  with  concerts  and  schools  of  music — a 
town  where  one  of  the  first  symphonic  schools  in 
Europe  has  sprung  from  nothing,  a  town  where  an 
enthusiastic  concert-going  public  has  been  formed, 
possessing  among  its  members  some  great  critics 
with  broad  interests  and  a  fine,  free  spirit — all  this 
is  the  pride  of  France.  And  we  have,  too,  a  little 
band  of  musicians  ;  among  them,  in  the  first  rank, 
that  great  painter  of  dreams,  Claude  Debussy ; 
that  master  of  constructive  art,  Dukas ;  that  im- 
passioned thinker,  Albcric  Magnard  ;  that  ironic 
poet.  Ravel ;  and  those  delicate  and  finished 
wTiters,  Albert  Roussel  and  DJodat  de  Severac  ; 
without  mention  of  the  younger  musicians  who 
are  in  the  vanguard  of  their  art.  And  all  this 
poetic  force,  though  not  the  most  vigorous,  is  the 
most  original  in  Europe  to-day.  Whatever  gaps 
one  may  find  in  our  musical  organisation,  still  so 
new,  whatever  results  this  movement  may  lead  to, 
it  is  impossible  not  to  admire  a  people  whom  defeat 
has  aroused,  and  a  generation  that  has  accomplished 
the  magnificent  work  of  reviving  the  nation's  music 
with  such  untiring  perseverance  and  such  steadfast 
faith.  The  names  of  Camille  Saint-Saens,  Cesar 
Franck,  Charles  Bordes,  and  Vincent  dTndy,  will 
remain  associated  before  all  others  with  this  work 
of  national  regeneration,  where  so  much  talent  and 
so  much  devotion,  from  the  leaders  of  orchestras 
and  celebrated  composers  down  to  that  obscure 
body    of    artists    and    music-lovers,     have    joined 


324  MUSICIANS   OF  TO-DAY 

forces  in  the  fight  against  indifference  and  routine . 
They  have  the  right  to  be  proud  of  their  work. 
But  for  ourselves,  let  us  waste  no  time  in  thinking 
about  it.  Our  hopes  are  great.  Let  us  justify 
them. 


PAINTED    BY    WILLIAM     BRHNDON     AND    SON.     LTD- 
PLyw>>UTH,    ENGLAND. 


University  of  California  Libr; 


or  ^^aiirorma  LiDrarv 
Los  Angeles    AUG  3  0  2000 


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